


A Tale of Two Anders

by cypheroftyr, The_Arkadian



Series: Reflections [5]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: AU, D/s, M/M, Multi, Threesome, allusions to rape and violence, mage whumping, violence (past)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-06 22:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 42,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cypheroftyr/pseuds/cypheroftyr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Arkadian/pseuds/The_Arkadian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picks up right where Bad Reflection on You left off. Can Thedas stand two Anders in one Kirkwall? Let's find out!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Features arkadyrose's OC Mage Hawke, Arden.

Anders stared at Anders.

“This isn’t possible,” he said. The other Anders blinked.

“Fasta vass, I cannot tell them apart,” admitted Fenris.

Arden glanced between them. “That’s because they’re technically the same person,” he said quietly. Both Anders glanced at him.

“What are we going to do?” asked Merrill as she walked around them. “Which one is ours?”

“I am,” said one, glancing at her briefly. His twin stirred but said nothing.

“I don’t understand - why did you follow?” Arden asked, shaking his head as he leaned against the table.

“With you gone, there was nothing for me there,” the other Anders answered quietly. “I wanted to see the Kirkwall you came from, see with my own eyes the changes you’d made. I wanted to breathe the air of a Kirkwall where Hawke believes mages are living, thinking human beings with rights and not an inconvenience to be thrown upon the mercy of the Gallows. A Kirkwall where the name of Hawke does not strike fear into the hearts of every apostate.”

Arden’s Anders widened his eyes. He glanced to Arden. “Is this true?” he breathed. “But I thought the other Hawke was a mage?”

“He is,” replied Arden grimly. “Though I think his stance towards many things have changed recently.”

Fenris tilted his head at the other Anders. He wasn’t as well groomed as theirs, nor was he as well fed. “Well he’s stuck here for now, but we need a way to tell you two apart.” 

Merrill glared at all of them, then at her shattered Eluvian. “Get out, I don’t give a damn what you all do to tell him apart, put a bell on him for all I care but get out of my house. You’ve done enough damage for the day.” 

Arden glanced around at the mess and the ruins of the Eluvian with a pang of guilt. “Merrill -”

Her glare stopped him. He raised his hands in surrender. “We’re going!” he assured her as they all left hurriedly.

“Back to the estate I think,” he decided as they gathered around him. he glanced at the other Anders; Fenris was right. Deprived of the safety of the Hawke estate and the regular meals that entailed, the other Anders was ill fed, his clothing unkempt. His gaze softened as the other Anders regarded him with a lost air about him.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get back to the house; our guest could use a good meal, I dare say.”

As they walked, he leaned in close to his own Anders. “So... how would you feel about an earring?” he suggested.

His Anders quirked an eyebrow at him and laughed. “I used to have one, remember what I said about my warden days love?” 

Fenris walked in front, but listened for anything that would alert him to danger. He had Arden back and another Anders. He was going to have a word with his lover about bringing home stray mages.

The other Anders followed behind, a look of sad wistfulness as he witnessed the loving exchange between the two blond apostates, their arms flung about each other’s waists. Arden rested his head on Anders’ feathered shoulder and the healer laughed.

He had wanted that for himself. He wanted Arden’s hand about his waist, his breath warm upon his neck, his easy camaraderie and love. He followed behind, feeling cold and more lonely than he could have dreamed when he followed the blond Hawke through the Eluvian.

They reached the house and Fenris let everyone enter before he went last. After the door was locked, he grabbed Arden and kissed him breathless before he let a few tears slip down his face. “I thought you were gone, I thought…” the elf gasped as he held onto the blond mage and let his mask fall away. He’d been terrified during his absence but had held it all in except for the burst of anger in Merrill’s home. 

The other Anders watched silently. The Fenris in his world was a cold, harsh creature who would gladly have ripped his heart out in the blink of an eye had Invictus Hawke not had greater need for the apostate alive. He had always assumed that one day Hawke would turn his back on him altogether, and the white-haired elf would come for him - either to end his life or to drag him kicking and screaming to the Gallows. It would be kill or be killed.

Yet this Fenris cast a friendly glance over to him as he held Arden, and he had seen him through the mirror comforting his counterpart. He had no idea how such an unlikely friendship could have formed. This Fenris was a stranger, an unknown.

Arden pulled back for air and to whisper adoration in his lovers ear. He was glad to be home despite his last minute reluctance. “I need a good meal, I was a bit distracted and didn’t really eat much while I was in the other place”

“Go on, we’ll help the other ...Anders to get cleaned up and then he gets a hot meal, or three in him.” Fenris gave him a kind look that veered close to pity but didn’t quite get there. “Come, we can see if Anders clothes fit you...Anders. We need something else to call you.” 

The one that belonged in that world shook his head at the bewildered look on his doppleganger’s face. “What a nightmare his Kirkwall must be to chance this world, unknown and with nothing to his name but his clothes and staff. Not even his mum’s pillow.”

Anders felt his heart give a lurch. The pillow. The last remnant tying him to his past; the last reminder of a mother whose face he could no longer quite picture in his mind. His face went white and he slumped against the door. “No....” he breathed. There was a loud ringing in his ears; he couldn’t quite breathe, his lips and fingers were tingling.

Then Arden was kneeling over him, loosening his collar, the slender hands gently brushing the hair out of his face as the other Anders loomed over his shoulder looking worried. “Me and my big mouth,” he groaned. “I’m sorry. I should have thought.”

“He’s had a hell of a shock,” Arden said gently. “Anders, it’s going to be alright. You’re safe here with friends.”

“Don’t take my name from me,” whispered Anders as he clutched at Arden’s hands. “I have nothing but my name, and even that’s not mine - but it’s all I have.”

“You’re still Anders,” nodded Arden. “Come on, do you think you can stand up? I think you need a good meal and then sleep.”

Fenris waved Arden off and helped the other Anders to his feet. “Go on, get your own meal. I’ll help him get cleaned up and bring him down to dinner. You all have had a hard day.” 

Anders stared nervously at Fenris but allowed himself to be led upstairs to the bathing chamber. He stood staring about himself as Fenris began filling the big tub. He’d never been allowed into Hawke’s house before, at least no further than the foyer. This was all strange and new to him. 

When Fenris tugged at his coat, his eyes became panicked. “I can bathe alone!” he blurted. “I don’t need help!” He clutched at his ragged coat, swaying slightly.

The elf backed away slowly and let Anders find his way around the bath. “There will be clothes you can wear in the wardrobe. Come back downstairs when you are done.” 

Anders watched him with wide eyes, waiting until he was certain he was alone before slowly approaching the bathtub. He shucked off his shabby feathered jacket, followed by the faded and worn old patchwork leather tunic. The grey under-robe was next, the boots falling haphazardly where he dropped them. He glanced around in paranoid caution before stripping off the shirt, then gestured at the water to heat it. Finally peeling off the faded and patched pants, he slid into the water with a long, low tremulous sigh. he rested his head upon the back of the tub and stared at the ceiling as the full import of what he had done began to slowly sink in.

He took up the soap and began to wash, luxuriating in the heavenly feel of good quality soap that didn’t burn his skin with harsh lye and hot water in a warm room instead of a cold bucket and a hasty scrub in a cold clinic.

The clinic. He sat bolt upright, the soap dropping to the bottom of the tub as it slipped from suddenly clumsy hands. The clinic, who would look after his patients at the clinic? No-one would know where he had gone. There was no-one else with his skill who could take over. 

He stared at his hands and shivered suddenly in spite of the hot water. “Maker, what have I done?” he moaned. Wrong, wrong, this was all wrong; he could feel Justice’s disapproval radiating through him like a chill. He had abandoned his duty, and for what? Another Hawke who had no need of a spare healer; he already had his Anders. What place was there here for him?

He slumped back in the water and let out a cry of anguish as he realised how stupid and selfish he had been. 

Fenris tilted his head at the sound of distress. “I wonder if he needs your help, either of you. He seemed a little freaked out by me.” 

Anders sighed and headed upstairs to the bath. “Well, if he can’t take advice from himself or comfort, it will be Arden’s turn next.” 

Anders sat still and numb in the bath, shivering in spite of the heat. He didn’t look around as the door opened behind him.

“I’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake,” he said hoarsely. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”

Anders sighed and heated the water, then sat behind his other self and continued to scrub at the scarred back, so like his own.

“Let me guess, you dashed after the ideal without thinking and now you realized all you left behind? The people in your Kirkwall that are now without a Darktown healer, or the fact you left it all behind on impulse, which is how we wound up here to begin with?’ he said as he washed his double’s back, his eyes misting up at just how bad his scars were. 

“Fuck...they ...how can they stand to see me I wonder.” he said out loud. “Sorry, it’s just a strange sight for me. I can put my past behind me since I can’t see what was done easily. I’m sorry Anders.” 

“How....” His voice cracked and he coughed. “How bad is it? I’ve never...” he drew a shaky breath. “Show me,” he asked, his voice bleak. 

“No, you are already near falling to pieces. That would push you over I think.Perhaps after some rest, I can show you, alright? For now, lets get you changed into something warm, dry and clean and let’s see what Bodhan can make of your...clothes.” 

The other Anders nodded. How bad could it be that this other him wouldn’t let him see? He could remember every blow that had caused the scars; every whip cut that had torn open his flesh, but mapping that mentally onto his skin was beyond him. If even he would recoil from the sight.... He stood up and reached for a towel, his hair dripping wetly down his back as he stepped from the tub, drying himself off. He glanced down at his prominent ribs then over at the other Anders. “Your... things... may be a little loose for me,” he observed.

“It’s alright, maybe Ardens’ clothes will be more your size. We’re of a height but he insists on me getting proper meals. He eats like a damn bird. Come on, let’s see what’s in the wardrobe.” the Anders of that world said gently and steered the other one towards the oak cabinet tucked into the corner of the room.

Anders adjusted the towel around his waist then pulled the wardrobe door open. As he’d guessed, the Anders of this world had rather more flesh on his bones and all his clothing looked to be a couple of sizes too loose, but he found a pair of black pants, a charcoal-grey shirt and a soft slate blue-grey robe that fit. He guessed they must have been Arden’s. he pulled his own boots back on, then turned and looked at the other Anders.

He wanted to ask him so many questions. He regarded him for a long moment, but all he said was, “You mentioned food.”

“Warden appetite probably kicking in at the smell of Bohdan’s cooking?” the right Anders smirked and led the way down to the kitchen. He kissed Arden again and sat next to him, which only left the seat next to Fenris open for their other Anders.

“I don’t bite, sit down.” the elf rumbled as he filled his plate, then did the same and slid it in front of the other warden run away. “Eat, I can count your ribs.” 

He eyed the white-haired elf suspiciously, but everyone else seemed to be eating the same food, so he turned his attention to the plate.

Maker, but he was starving. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten properly. He tried to eat slowly at first, but then he hunched over the plate and began to wolf the food down, bolting it as fast as he could. No telling when he might get to eat as well as this again.

Arden and his Anders regarded the otherworldly visitor with wide eyes. “Was I ever that bad?” murmured the former Grey Warden quietly.

“Yes, actually,” remarked Arden, gesturing to Bodhan to give the other Anders a second helping. He never noticed, merely tearing into the food as though he had never been fed before, not drawing proper breath until the food was gone. Dropping his fork, he ran his fingers over the plate’s surface, scooping up every last trace of grease and gravy, licking his fingers clean like a fastidious cat until suddenly he froze, aware of all eyes upon him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, dropping his gaze as he licked a last smear of grease from his forefinger.

Fenris laughed and worked on finishing his own meal. “There’s more Anders, no need to act like...never mind, my apologies.” the elf caught himself before he said something stupid and hurtful to the healer. “If you all don’t mind, I could use some sleep after all the excitement.”

Anders stared openly at Fenris. The other elf he knew would have cut him with words if not the massive two-hander he favored. This elf was nothing like the one he knew and he didn’t know what to make of him. “Maker, it’s like two different elves.” 

Fenris paused and stared at the strange Anders. “Mage, there are many things different about this Kirkwall that perhaps will not be what you would expect. I am the least of these, believe me.” He regarded the perplexed mage with a small smile. “Would you rather I slapped you, kicked you around the kitchen a few times to make you feel at home?”

“It would be more in line with what I’m used to,” agreed Anders. “Though feel free to forgo the kicking part.”

Fenris shook his head. “I will not harm you, you have my word on it,” he answered as he rose to his feet. The mage could not help but flinch a little, and Fenris sighed. “Arden, I think perhaps our guest is as much in need of rest as I am. And, I think, as are you.” He turned to their own Anders and gently kissed him on the cheek. “Show your ‘twin’ to the spare room, beloved? And come join us after?”

The strange Anders stared at this demonstration of affection between the white-haired elf and his counterpart, his head a whirl of thoughts and disbelief. He couldn’t believe the evidence of his own eyes.

“As you wish, though I think if he sees you behaving so much differently than the Fenris he knows for long he’ll faint.” Anders smirked and returned his lovers kiss before he had to pull his double from the chair and direct him upstairs.

“Come on, it’s not that much of a shock is it?” he asked his doppelganger.

“Yes, yes it is. The Fenris in my world would sooner rip my heart out than touch me, let alone kiss me,” he muttered, still somewhat in shock. 

Anders frowned as his twin stumbled slightly on the stairs, obviously badly shaken by what he had seen. He guided him into the spare room and nudged him gently over towards the bed.

His head spinning, the alien Anders clutched at one of the bedposts then turned back to the other Anders.

“There’s more to this, isn’t there? Than kisses and fond looks?” he said bleakly. “How long?”

“Far more and for a couple years now. Kind of broke the others when they saw it the first time. Once you’re rested we can tell you, and you can see the scars for yourself. I think you could do with a good nights sleep, do you want a potion or…?” he twitched his fingers at the not-Anders and smiled gently.

“A... couple of years? Far more?” said the other mage faintly and put his hand to his head as the blood drained from his face. He could hear that ringing in his ears again as he stood there, swaying. “A couple of years?”

His eyes rolled up into his head and he fainted dead away.

“You couldn’t have done that on the bed?” muttered the other Anders plaintively as he stared down at him and huffed in annoyance. “Oh well, saved me a spell I suppose.”

He hefted up the unconscious mage, shaking his head at how light he seemed, even a dead weight as he was like this. He hefted him awkwardly up on to the bed then tugged off his boots before dragging a blanket up over him. He stared down at the unconscious Anders and lightly traced the outline of the familiar face. He wondered how he would have coped if their situations were reversed, with a Fenris that hated him and a Hawke who would gladly have seen him thrown to the Gallows and made Tranquil the moment he stopped being useful.

On reflection, he thought he’d ended up in by far the better Kirkwall of the two.

He blew out all the candles save one, remembering how much he hated waking in a dark room himself. He slipped out of the room, and a moment later returned with his mother’s pillow. He tucked it into the unconscious Anders’ arms.

“I think you have more need of this than I, for now,” he whispered quietly. 

He left him sleeping.

Fenris had already claimed Arden’s lips in a needy kiss when Anders returned to the room for hte night. He didn’t say a word about how the elf was wrapped around their lover like he’d never let go. He knew how much Fenris missed and needed Arden, especially after his near meltdown.

The elf let go only to breathe and to hold his mage close to him. “Never do that again, never you hear me.” 

Arden rested his head against Fenris’ chest. “Yes ser,” he said quietly as Anders slid into the bed on his other side and wrapped his long arms around Arden’s waist, leaning across to kiss Fenris. “Do you think we need to show him what happens when he frightens us like that, love?” he asked with a hopeful look in his eye.

“I think so, I’ve missed the way he says ser and begs for us so prettily beloved.” Fenris replied and kissed the other blond again. “Fuck I’ve missed this, all of us together. Get the oil and douse a couple candles. First we reclaim you, then we remind you of where you belong, understand Arden?”

“Yes ser,” replied Arden breathily as he felt Anders’ fingers close about his wrists, pulling his hands behind his back. His breath began to quicken as he felt Anders bind his wrists tightly with the silk cord from his houserobe. “Just so you don’t get any ideas, love,” whispered Anders before slipping from the bed. 

“Fenris, I can think of some good uses for this hot wax, can’t you?” he called as he doused one candle and reached for another. “Seems a shame to put it to waste.”

Arden’s eyes widened as he rolled onto his back and flexed his wrists against the silk rope experimentally. “Whatever you wish to do to me,” he said softly, his breath hitching. “I am yours.”

“I think you’re right. Flip back over mage, and feel free to make all the noise you wish.” Fenris helped Arden tip back over and ran his nails over the mage’s back, mindful of the scars he still refused to say much about. He settled over Arden’s back and leaned down to kiss the nape of his neck, and bite the spot that always made him lose his control. “Ours you understand?”

Arden cried out at the feel of Fenris’ teeth in his flesh. “Harder,” he begged. “I want you to mark me... please.”

“He’s begging already?” remarked Anders as he returned with the oil and settled himself behind Fenris, passing him the candle as he nudged Arden’s legs apart. “We’ve barely even started.”

“Yes, he’s got some time to make up for. You can do the wax, he wants to feel my teeth on him.” the elf murmured before he rolled off Arden and tried to figure a good position to overwhelm him in sensation. “Ah, help him sit up and I’ll sit behind him, you can play from that side.” 

Anders paused in the act of sliding a slicked finger into Arden’s willing body, and shrugged, even as Arden gasped softly and shivered beneath him. “Sure, why not?” he smiled. He thrust his finger in deeply, grazing it over the sweet spot inside and causing Arden to cry out before he pulled out and tugged Arden up onto his knees.

“Look how flushed he is,” murmured Anders as he knelt in front of the blond mage. “Quite debauched. You’d think he was eager for us, love.” He pushed Arden back into Fenris’ waiting arms then reached for the candle again.

“He is, he’s a good little mage for us, aren’t you love?” he growled in Arden’s ear before he went back to worrying the blond’s neck and ears, making sure to sink his teeth in far as he could without drawing blood. Fenris never went that far unless their lover begged for it and he was in a deeply possessive mood. 

“Make him beg, make him call out and ask for us to make him scream Anders.” 

“I’ve been a very bad mage actually,” breathed Arden, thinking back to only a few hours earlier. “I think I need to be punished. Very....” He arched his back and gasped as Fenris grazed his throat with just the merest hint of teeth. “...very heavily punished,” he finished with a moan.

“Oh?” asked Anders, placing one hand splayed against the base of Arden’s throat before carefully dribbling a line of wax across the slender mage’s chest. Arden cried out and shuddered.

“Sounds like maybe we need to teach him a quite... stringent lesson,” he suggested as he took Arden’s nipple in his fingers and pinched it unmercifully hard, the nipple pebbling in his grip as Arden gasped in pain.

“I agree, and he’s already tied up for us. I think we need to make a sandwich, remind him of what he gets when he’s a good boy...but first his punishment. What to do since he’s such an easy to please lover. Spanking him only makes him greedier. Hmm, watching us then maybe fucking him?” Fenris asked between marking the mage’s neck and shoulders in a ring of marks from his teeth.

“Maybe we should tie him to a bedpost and make him watch whilst you bend me over and show him what that lovely thick cock of yours could be doing to him,” suggested Anders with a wink. “I’ve been a very good mage after all....”

“Hmm that you have Anders.” he kissed the other blond possessively then untied Arden’s hands just so he could retie them behind the bedpost. “Maybe once I’m done with him, I’ll take care of you. If you’re good and beg for us.” the elf said with a wicked smirk. “Be a good boy and talk to us, make us know you want it.”

Anders reached for the oil and briefly murmured in Fenris’ ear. He was feeling a little unsettled still after talking earlier with the other Anders and needed something to take his mind off things. “A little rough handling tonight, love,” he breathed. “I could use the distraction. I’ll explain later, just - don’t hold back, OK?” 

Fenris scowled but nodded his agreement. “As you wish, but you will explain yourself later.” he pulled the oil out of Anders hands and bent the mage over so he could prepare him, then slick himself. He looked to where Arden was watching them hungrily and smiled. “I believe you were to speak, tell us what you think you should get after I’m done with Anders.”

Arden licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry as he watched Anders bury his face in his arms, presenting himself to Fenris and leaning back into his fingers with a low cry as Fenris slipped the first slick finger inside him. “I-I want you both,” he breathed. “Both of you inside me... your cock rammed into my tight ass, Fenris, whilst Anders rams his beautiful long cock down my ungrateful throat.” He drew a shaking breath as Anders pushed back into Fenris’ thrusting hand, spreading his knees a little wider and keening quietly as Fenris began to slowly finger-fuck him.

“I want to feel you do that to me,” he breathed shakily, “whilst Anders pumps into my throat, fucking my mouth whilst you fist-fuck me,” he went on, and groaned, struggling against the ropes. “Oh fuck, yes, just like that. Oh Maker, you have no idea how good you two look.”

Anders turned his face to look at Arden, his face flushed as he panted.

“Give him more,” begged Arden. “He’s such a good mage....”

Fenris canted his head to the side and added a third finger, slick with more oil he dribbled on his fingers. He had a split second of doubt over Arden’s demeanor but unless he asked to stop he’d keep going. 

“He is a good mage, but you’re our good mage right Arden? Do you want him down your throat while I fuck him? Or his fist deep in you while I’m giving it to him hard and deep? Choose before I let him untie you.”

Arden stared at him in an agony of indecision whilst Anders moaned, low and needy, pushing back into Fenris’ touch and needing more.

“I don’t think he could handle fisting me,” he admitted reluctantly. “Untie me and I’ll lay underneath him so he can fuck my mouth?” he stared at Anders as the mage groaned again, his face flushed, lost in sensation as Fenris curled his fingers inside him. he shuddered then cried out. “Oh Maker... more, please...” he murmured.

Fenris withdrew his fingers and slapped the mage’s ass with his other hand. “Untie our wicked lover and come back here so I can give you what you’ve earned. Be fast.” 

Anders cried out dismay as the fingers withdrew but pushed himself up from the bed quickly. His fingers were trembling as he untied the knot, then he shoved himself back into position. Arden spread himself out below Anders and reached up, guiding the healer’s engorged member into his hot, wet, inviting mouth as Anders bent over with a groan, spreading his knees and opening himself for Fenris.

“Good, such a good boy for me.” Fenris said before he sunk into his lover with one hard thrust, his eyes closed and he held onto Anders hips before he started to pound hard and fast into the mage. “You wanted it rough, you’re getting just that.” he hissed.

Anders cried out and thrust down into Arden’s mouth then rocked back to meet Fenris’ thrust, pumping into Arden’s throat then back as he was impaled on Fenris’ cock, angling his hips so the elf could thrust deeper. He panted little fast cries with each thrust, caught between the sensations of pumping into Arden’s mouth whilst simultaneously he was ravaged by the elf’s almost savage thrusts. He cried out, a high-pitched panting keen even as Arden groaned beneath him, sending delicious thrills along his cock.

 

Fenris moaned as he fucked his apostate harder and faster in an effort to push them both over the edge. He couldn’t reach that sensitive spot on Anders neck but he could give him a good spanking while he pounded into him.

“Come… for me...mine, all mine.” he snarled with each slap to Anders ass. 

Anders bent down and took Arden’s cock in his own mouth and sucked, working Arden’s flesh with his tongue even as he thrust down into the other mage, coming ever closer to his own climax as Fenris thrust harder into his trembling body.

“Fucking come for me mage.” he snarled even as he started to lose his rhythm, his body unable to keep that pace for much longer. “Gonna… lose it.”

Arden reached a hand up to curl around the base of Anders’ cock, even as he arched his back and slipped a finger inside his own body. He closed his eyes and let a little shock of magic dart into them both at the same time.

Anders screamed his climax, lifting his head from Arden’s cock as he came, body spasming as his seed spurted down Arden’s throat, his body clamping tight around the elf’s cock even as Arden gagged and twitched beneath him, lost in the throes of his own orgasm.

The way Anders clenched down on him made Fenris come hard, his body responding to the power that Arden had let loose in the room. He slipped back and out of Anders with a pop and flopped back on the bed with a grunt. “Lyrium, amplified… fuck, warn me … next time.” the elf gasped.

Anders collapsed upon his side, his body still twitching and shivering even as Arden turned his head away and choked, fighting for breath. He managed to swallow Anders’ load then coughed, panting raggedly.

After a few moments in which the only sound in the room was that of three men trying to recover their breath, Anders raised his head and fixed Arden with a stern look. “You are not a good mage,” he said accusingly. “I taught you that trick. You cheated.”

Arden gasped for breath and laughed. “I’m sure you’ll think of a suitable punishment, love,” he managed to pant between chuckles.

“Not tonight, I think you broke me.” Fenris moaned before he slid off the bed and to the floor. “Just leave me here, can’t move.” the elf muttered.

“Get back up here, you’ll freeze down there,” mumbled Arden exhaustedly. “Anders, get our glowy boyfriend up on the bed will you?”

“Why me?” groused Anders as he levered himself up on one elbow.

“Because I think you broke me when you tried to choke me with your cock,” Arden said quietly.

“You asked for it,” replied Anders, nonetheless getting up with a sigh and scooping Fenris up off the floor and pulling him up into the bed. He tugged Arden up the bed until the mage’s head was resting on the pillows, Arden rather unhelpfully lying limp and letting the healer do all the work.

Finally Anders collapsed into the bed beside his loves and pulled the covers up over them all.

“Tomorrow you bring me tea in bed,” he groused to Arden.

There was no answer; the mage and the elf were already fast asleep.

**

Anders snuggled his face into the pillow and sighed, the scent reassuring and familiar as he slowly stretched in the bed then curled up again, head tucked under the covers.

He was warm for once, the down comforter thick and fluffy, pinning in all the delicious heat, and the bed was soft with just enough firmness to the mattress to support his back properly. It felt so good to wake up and not have his first sensations be ones of cold, or hunger, or his back spasming again from a long night spent draped in exhaustion across the nearest cot in the clinic or hunched up in his too-small bed with only his coat and a faded, worn old Warden blanket for warmth.

He could get used to this, he mused.

His eyes snapped open. Where the hell was he?

He sat up and stared around. 

He recognised nothing in the room. 

Clutching his mother’s pillow to his chest, he stared down at himself. He didn’t recognise the clothes he was wearing or anything else. He cast his eyes around wildly in a panic. How did he get here? Where was here?

His mind was a curious blank. He knew with some detached part of his mind that was still, after all, a healer, that something very bad must have happened and he was exhibiting all the signs of shock. Something had happened. Something terrible. Something very wrong.

He threw aside the comforter and got out of the bed, staring round. He couldn’t fathom how he could come to be lying in such luxury. This wasn’t any room at the Blooming Rose he recognised either, which counted out the only other place apart from the clinic that he could imagine sleeping.

He spotted his own clothes sitting in a neat pile at the end of the bed. They’d been carefully cleaned and mended. He lifted up the feathered jacket and stared wonderingly. Then he stripped off the strange robe and pulled on the patchwork tunic and jacket. The shirt and pants he chose to keep; they were in much better condition than his old rags.

He glanced around, hearing sounds of movement in the house. Other people. He had to get out of here.

Snatching up the pillow and his staff, he fled, as silent as only a Grey Warden can be.

**

Fenris woke up first out of habit and hissed as his sore joints made themselves known. He wormed his way out of bed and put on his at home clothes that Arden had gotten him as a gift for moving in. They mirrored his lovers, but were a green that matched his eyes. He slipped out of the room quietly and went down the hall to see if their guest was awake.

He knocked and after he heard nothing from inside, the elf entered and found the room empty, some of the clothes Anders had put on after his bath on the floor and the bed disheveled. “Shit.” Fenris swore and went back to wake up the others.

“Get up, he’s gone and on the loose in the city. Get up both of you, we’ve got another Anders out there that has no idea what this world is like.” Fenris nudged at both of them with a bit more force than he’d usually use.

Anders mumbled something under the comforter, but Arden’s tousled head appeared immediately on Fenris’ words. “Gone? Actually gone?” He threw aside the covers, swearing a blue streak in a way Fenris didn’t quite recall him ever doing in the past. Or quite so inventively, the elf reflected as Arden reached for his wardrobe and started pulling out clothes.

“How long ago do you think?” he called back over his shoulder as he pulled out an old grey leather jerkin then reached for his Champion armour. He wore it very rarely unless he was anticipating trouble. “Was the bed still warm?”

“I didn’t check but it can’t have been that long ago that he left.” Fenris mumbled as he stripped out of his home wear and slipped into his leathers. He buckled on his sword and when he noticed that Anders was still under the covers he pulled them off and shouted in his other lover’s ear. “Anders get the fuck up, your double is roaming around the city, do you want him to get picked up by the templars?”

“Andraste’s arse, no!” exclaimed Anders, coming fully awake all at once and rolling from the bed in one swift movement that was all long limbs and loose blond hair. Taking in Arden’s choice of clothing, he nodded grimly; instead of his usual attire, he reached into the wardrobe for the new black outfit Arden had had commissioned for him some time ago.

“Void take it, I can never work out these bloody straps,” muttered Arden as he struggled with the armour. “I’m a mage, not a blasted warrior!” He dropped his hands in exasperation. “Fenris, I need help,” he said in irritation. “Whoever thought up the idea that mages should wear armour anyway?”

The elf batted his hands away and pulled the straps into order, and buckled his lover in efficiently as he would have gotten himself ready. “Perhaps someone who didn’t want their mage lover to be on the receiving end of the Arishok’s weapon, or anyone else’s for that matter?” Fenris said quietly as he patted down the dark leather to be sure it was properly fitted. He didn’t tell Arden but he’d commissioned it as a ‘gift’ from the city.

Arden sighed, instantly abashed. He took Fenris’ hand in his own and laid it against his ribs, down on the left hand side; directly over the scar where the Arishok’s blade had pierced him through. The day both men thought he would die, even as the city erupted with the Champion’s name. “I am sorry, love,” he said quietly. “I’m not familiar with it yet. Perhaps you can teach me how to wear it with more grace and humility?” He smiled faintly. “Vic wears his all the time, so it must be possible somehow! Well, maybe not the humility part.” He grinned.

“You’re terrible but I still love you. Come, we have an Anders to find and return to the estate.” Fenris smiled at Arden softly then turned to see if their Anders was ready. 

“You look...good in that. Pity we don’t have time for me to take you right back out of it.” the elf’s gaze was dark and heavy with want as he took in how good Anders looked in all black. Later he promised himself, later once they’d found the other version of him.

Anders smiled grimly and held out something small and golden. “You didn’t get a chance to mark me last night whilst you were so busy reminding Arden of what he’d left behind, love,” he said quietly. “Would you like to do the honours?” He dropped to one knee as he held up the earring and turned his face to the side, offering his right ear. “The hole may have closed by now; it’s been a few years. You might need to force it.”

Fenris took the hoop after he’d removed his gauntlets. He didn’t want to slice his lover’s face open as he put the earring in. “Take a moment, hopefully I won’t have to force it, I’m not exactly gentle.” the elf calmed himself and slid the hoop through with not much effort and closed it with fingers that trembled slightly. “There, we can’t miss who’s who with that bracelet hanging off your ear.”

Anders straightened his head and stood up, taking a moment to regard himself in the full-length mirror, turning his head slightly to look at the earring. The heavy gold was somehow both familiar and not at the same time; it had been a long time since he had been that other Anders. The one the Hero of Ferelden had bestowed another, similar adornment upon. He still remembered the touch of those other hands, the breath on his face, the sweet exquisite pain as his ear had been pierced that first time.

Another time. Another Anders. He wasn’t that man any more. He felt a stirring of approval tinged with regret stirring deep inside but quelled the answering emotions that stirred within him.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly, and reached for his staff.

**

Anders was so confused by his surroundings. It was Kirkwall, but it felt so _wrong_ to him. He kept to the alleyways and side paths until he made his way to the Darktown entrance. That was familiar, that was somewhat safe. Usually, but he noticed a pair of templars patrolling just close enough that he’d be caught if he tried to casually stroll by and take the lift down to the undercity.

He doubled back and ducked down a rarely-used stair, little more than planks hammered haphazardly into a wooden brace, the steps uneven. He darted down back passageways and through lesser-known routes. He’d made Darktown his own for years; he knew it like the scars on his-

He stumbled to a halt, the stray thought suddenly jarring. The scars on his back. He’d never actually seen them. He stared at his hand as it rested upon a low lintel. Why had he suddenly thought of his scars? They were a part of him, had been for years. And yet, he’d never seen them. Couldn’t see them. Why was he suddenly gripped with a burning need to know?

He shook his head. This was getting him nowhere, least of all back to the clinic. He ducked through the low archway and doubled round the corner.

And froze when he saw Aveline standing in front of the doors of the clinic, three guardsmen nearby.

“Aveline. An unusual pleasure,” he said quietly as he stepped out of the shadows.

The redheaded guard captain quirked an eyebrow at the sight before her. He certainly could be Anders twin, and the cautious way he approached matched the hasty description Arden had given her. 

“H’lo Anders you can come on out of the shadows, you know I don’t bite.” She tried to be casual, to not make him run the other way.

Anders stepped forward cautiously. “You don’t normally come down here, Aveline; aren’t the guards’ healers doing a good enough job?” he inquired as he drew closer. She stood between him and the promised sanctuary of the clinic where he belonged. He clutched the pillow tighter and shifted his grip on his staff. “What’s up?”

“Not much, I ah...I have need of your skills that I’d rather not go to the Keep’s healer for.” She blushed and turned away, mostly to hide the fact she lied but also to give him a sense she was embarrassed

“You lot can go on back to the Keep, I didn’t need an escort as it was.” She waved the other men away, but not without a whispered order to send Arden on to the clinic. Aveline turned back to him with a sheepish grin. “So...can we go inside? I’d rather not chat about this in front of your door.”

“Huh,” responded Anders as he pushed the clinic door open. “When Hawke tossed Isabela to the Arishok I never thought you’d step into her shoes, Aveline,” he observed, making his way to the small room at the back where he carefully stowed the pillow before returning, shrugging his jacket off and draping it over the back of a chair. “Aren’t you a decently-married woman now?”

“I beg your pardon?” she didn’t get his meaning by what he’d said. “I’m not like her, I will thank you not to besmirch my name. Now if you do not mind, I would like the usual packet of herbs for ...monthly problems.” Aveline glared at him, Arden’s words be damned she would not be treated like some common trollop.

He’d misspoken, the jest falling flat. Everything felt off-kilter, and now he’d managed to insult one of the very few friends he still had. “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning on a table and rubbing his forehead with one hand. “I’m having a lousy day. I didn’t mean to ....” he glanced up at Aveline with a hopeless look. “Forgive me, that was out of order. Let me get those herbs.” 

“What has you having such a lousy day?” Aveline asked as she leaned against a pillar and watched his movements. For someone who didn’t belong there, he seemed to know the clinic like the back of his hand.

“I wish I knew,” he said frankly. “There’s... a gap. I went to visit Merrill a couple of days ago, but... something happened, something I can’t remember. I woke up in a strange room, and then found templar patrols where they shouldn’t have been.” He reached out without looking to a space on the shelf above his head then frowned when his fingers closed on nothing. He glanced up. “The blue cohosh was right here, I left it....” He glanced round and saw the jar he was looking for on a different shelf, the slight dust on its lid indicating it had sat there for some time.

He plucked it from the shelf and stared at it. “I didn’t leave you here,” he breathed softly. “Someone’s been moving my supplies....” He began to frantically search the shelves around him, pulling out jars and bundles of herbs. “Everything... nothing’s where I left it!”

He turned to Aveline with wild eyes. “Someone’s been in my clinic,” he said, shakily. “Who?”

“No one that I know of, who would have been in here if not you? The last time templars attacked, they ransacked the place remember?” Aveline shifted uncomfortably and tried to will Arden to appear sooner than later. Soon enough this Anders would realize nothing was where he’d left it, and that something was very, very wrong. 

Anders leaned back and stared around the shelves. He’d tallied everything carefully. he knew where everything would be, the quantities he should have stored. It was all wrong. There was far too much elfroot, not enough deep mushrooms. The jar of magebane was nearly full - he’d used the last of it only last week.

He frantically pawed through the racks of prepared potions until he found the particular sleep draught he made for when the nightmares were unendurable; the one with deathroot and magebane. The one that could easily kill a man if he took too much. His bottle had been nearly empty. This one was in the wrong place and was nearly full.

He felt a wave of dizziness sweep over him and he dropped to the floor, cradling the bottle in his hands. “It’s all wrong,” he whispered. “Nothing is right. This is all a horrible nightmare.”

Aveline came over and knelt next to him. “What’s wrong Anders, talk to me.” 

“I don’t know,” confessed Anders. “Something is very wrong here. Everything is different. This bottle... it should be nearly empty.” he uncorked it and sniffed. “This was made months ago. It’s never been used. But I know I drank nearly the last of it four days ago; I couldn’t sleep.”

The door to the clinic swung open and Arden and the others strode in. “Ah, Anders, there you are,” said Arden with a look of relief.

Anders stared at the Champion’s armour and his eyes widened, shoving himself backwards.

“Come on, Anders, we’ve come to take you somewhere safe,” went on the Champion.

“The Gallows, you mean?” gasped Anders as he shrank back into a small corner of the dispensary. “I always knew you’d do this some day, Hawke. You’d come for me at last. I won’t go without a fight!”

He struggled to his feet, the bottle dropping to the floor as he raised his hands, power enveloping them in a harsh blue-white glare, his eyes fixed on that familiar, hated armour.

Fenris drew a sharp breath and stepped up next to Arden, and nodded to their Anders to do the same. “Anders, we’re not taking you to the Gallows, why would you think that? You don’t remember yesterday do you?” the elf spoke slowly and gently, just in case this Anders also carried a spirit within him. 

Anders tilted his head and regarded his double with sadness. “What kind of man is his Hawke to make him react so to you? It’s sad loves.”

The other Anders froze as he saw what appeared to be himself, clad in a fine, black version of his own shabby attire, step up next to the Champion and his elven consort. “No,” he breathed. “Not possible....” The blue fire died away as he took a halting step forward. “I’m dreaming. This is all a horrible dream.” 

“Anders... it’s not a dream,” said the black-clad Anders as he took a step forward. “Remember last night. We spoke of our scars. Do you remember?”

He stared at the other face. It was his. This man was him, another version of him. He took another step forward. “This isn’t real,” he heard himself say. “It can’t be happening.” he managed a third step and then his knees buckled and he dropped to the floor. “You win, Hawke,” he said dully. “You win.” 

Anders, the one that belonged there stepped forward and pulled his double to his feet. “No, there’s no winning or losing here. Come back to the estate so we can talk, and perhaps feed you. You’re too light.” 

Fenris remained in place, he didn’t like the look of this other version of his lover, how he seemed moments from falling to pieces. “I’ll go ahead and have Bohdan start something hearty, I have a feeling he needs it.” the elf kissed Arden on the cheek and a slight wave to his Anders before he slipped out of the clinic, shaken and unwilling to let them see it.

Anders stared at his dark counterpart as Arden stepped closer, then froze as he stared at the Champion. Both men had his face. “Not possible,” he breathed. “What blood magic is this?”

Arden and his Anders exchanged a startled glance. “He’s forgotten everything,” realised Arden. “The shock - maybe an after effect of passing through the Eluvian?”

“I don’t know, mayb- oh Void, catch him!” exclaimed Anders as the other Anders’ knees buckled and he began to collapse, eyes rolling back in his head. The dark-clad Anders swept his pale-faced counterpart up into his arms and stared down at him. “Damn me, he’s even lighter than you, love,” he muttered. He looked down at the unconscious mage. “Well, that’s a first for me. I’ve never swept myself off my feet before.”

Aveline groaned at his pun and gave him a frown. “Poor man thought he’d called me a trollop, and he thinks Isabela was given to the Arishok for some reason. I’m guessing this other you is not such a ray of sunshine?” the guardswoman picked up the fallen Anders staff and slung it over her back. “Come, I’ll walk with you since Fenris has fled on home.”

“Invictus gave Isabela to the Arishok?” Arden stumbled a little in shock. “He never said - I’d assumed....”

“Think on it later, love,” suggested Anders as he made his way towards the doors.

Arden nodded, mentally re-evaluating what Invictus had told him - and, tellingly, what he had not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris is a toppy, possessive little sod. Anders from the other Kirkwall is really confused, and Arden just wants everyone to get along. But this is Kirkwall after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinks: Toppy!Fenris, sub!Anders, toys,   
> Notes: AU, Anders but not Anders at least not theirs, mage whumping ahoy

Fenris paced around the foyer while he waited for his lovers and the double to return. He was unnerved by this other Anders, how uncertain, how terrified he seemed the night before and in the clinic. He had no idea how he’d react if he came around in a different reality. Everyone was a bit too sanguine about it.

The elf stopped pacing once he heard the foyer door open, and Arden’s voice trailing in along with Aveline’s. 

“It’s all a mess,” he was agreeing. “And I have no idea how we’re going to get him back. Come to that, I have no way of knowing what’s going on in Invictus’ Kirkwall now with their best healer gone.”

“This is a fine mess then. Hopefully he will accept that he’s not at home any longer and be willing to accept this strange world he’s jumped into. Maker when did such strange happenings become routine Hawke?” the guardswoman looked up and smiled at Fenris. “H’lo Fenris, got room for one more at the table?”

“Of course, I’ll let Bohdan know.” the elf took the opportunity to run off to the kitchen and not have to look at the other Anders, held too easily in his lover’s arms.

“Welcome to my world, Aveline,” sighed Arden. “Though I’ll grant that this whole... world-hopping... thing is strange even by my usual standards. Something is going on with Kirkwall. The Veil has always been thin here anyway, but there’s something else going on here beyond the usual blood magic and old Tevinter enchantments gone awry.” he ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Anders, set him down in that chair by the fire for now. From what I recall, Anders never went any further than the foyer in Invictus’ house; maybe he won’t panic so much if he recognises at least one room in this house.”

“Sure thing.” the former warden said as he gently deposited his other self in the chair then headed upstairs. “Just changing out of these things since we’re back home. Perhaps you should change as well, the sight of your armor made him panic love.”

Arden groaned. “It was hard enough to get into the damned thing in the first place,” he groused. “I’ll need Fenris’ help to get out of it again unless I want to end up tied in knots.” he turned to the guard captain. “Aveline, thank you so much for your help. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to return the favour.”

“Unless I suddenly find myself in need of hunting down my own double, I think we’re fine for now. Here’s his staff, I’m going to avail myself of your privy before lunch is served.” Aveline put her sword and shield aside as well before she wandered down the hall towards the guest garderobe.

Fenris returned to them and avoided passing by the other Anders so he could stand with Arden. “I know you hate this armor, are you going to take it off?” the elf sounded unlike himself, subdued, almost as out of sorts as their guest.

“Love?” asked Arden quietly, turning to cup Fenris’ cheek with one hand, a question in his eyes. “What’s wrong? This is about more than just a set of armour, isn’t it? Come upstairs - I’ll need your help anyway. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Sure” Fenris responded and led Arden upstairs to their room. He undid the straps, pulled the pauldron aside and set the metal parts off on the stand while he unlaced Arden and finally spoke. “Seeing him so afraid, so unsettled and terrified I would hurt him is bothering me. We have moved beyond this in our world, I do not wish to revisit such hurts again.” 

Arden lowered his head, thoughtful as he stripped off the gloves and laid them aside before tugging loose the laces of the leather under-tunic, gritting his teeth as the stitches in his palm pulled slightly. The bandage made his hand clumsy but he persisted and then shrugged off the garment.

“We were all very drunk that first time. I... inadvertently mentioned Anders’ year... you know.” He wouldn’t spell it out explicitly; they both knew what he referred to. “Their Fenris... had had no idea. He wasn’t drunk and somewhat insulated from the shock as you were.” He glanced up. “I won’t put you through that again, love,” he said quietly. “Leave that part to me. He’s already seen my scars.”

“Shit...he just seems so lost, it’s hitting me hard is all. What have you two done to me? I was never this damned ...soft before you both came into my life.” Fenris tugged Arden down for a kiss then helped the mage put his armor away.

“I think me being nice is part of the reason he’s so freaked out. Seeing himself and the fact that you and Anders can pass for damn near twins anyway can’t be helping. Perhaps...if Isabela were willing to take him on to her ship it would help?”

“That’s a good idea actually,” remarked Arden. “Anders and she had history back in Ferelden together. Maybe she’s exactly the right person to take him in hand.”

He stepped in close behind the elf as Fenris finished fiddling with the straps on the armour and wrapped his long slender arms around the elf’s chest as he rested his chin on the elf’s shoulder, heedless of the jab of his armour into the side of his neck. He nuzzled Fenris, enjoying the contrast of hard, sharp armour driving into his throat and the soft, smooth skin of his lover. “You’re not soft, love,” he breathed. “I’ve seen how you rip apart slavers. You’re not soft; you just allowed yourself to start feeling. That’s not weakness. That’s strength. Would you say I am a weak man, Fenris?”

“Not at all, but we are different Arden. Tevinter ...it, it did things to me. Some of which I have never worked through, others that make me fill with despair, and some that would send me spiraling of a cliff if I were to give them much thought. You were loved, happy with your parents. If I ever had that, the memories are gone. You are stronger than I thought love, and I’m lucky for it.” Fenris leaned his head against his lovers and went silent as they just stood together and enjoyed a quiet moment.

After a moment, Arden nuzzled the elf again. “You didn’t see me when the templars got hold of me in the marketplace in Invictus’ world, love,” he said quietly. “I was not strong then. We all have our secret innermost fears. Most men are fortunate never to face them. They do not make us any less men for having them.” 

He pressed a kiss against Fenris’ jaw. “You are still you. I have not made you soft; I cannot make you something you never were to begin with. But if I helped you learn to feel, then I cannot regret that - because it means you can love. And yes, it means feeling pain - but love is worth it. Your love is worth it. As are you. If you were taken from me, I would die to get you back.”

“I would kill to get you back, you know that.” the elf said quietly. “Come, we should stop being maudlin while our guest lingers in the foyer. I just hope he can reconcile his foolish decision with the fact he may never return home. Unless he goes back to the Wardens in this world?” 

Arden pulled away reluctantly and shook his head. “No. I’ll not give him back. Not knowing what happened to him under their supposed protection. So long as there is a single templar stationed at any Grey Warden keep, Anders will not set foot there.” He turned away, scowling. “Damn it, they wouldn’t even let him keep his cat.”

“You two and cats, I swear. The damn things are considered vermin in Tevinter. Too many of them and not enough mabari to run them out.” Fenris said fondly before he took Arden’s hand and led them back downstairs.

“Maybe we should give him a cat to distract him?” mused Arden as they reached the foyer.

“Give who a cat?” asked their Anders as he glanced up from where he stood leaning over the unconscious Anders. “Are we getting a cat?” His eyes lit up hopefully and Arden laughed.

“Only if he says its alright, then you must care for it. They are pests in Minrathous and I will not have on shedding on my few possessions or Maker help you taking a piss on them.” Fenris said with no heat to his voice.

“It can shed on my things, I won’t mind!” said Anders cheerfully. “I swear I still find Pounce’s hairs on my things sometimes.”

“Pounce shed on everything,” mumbled the other Anders as he stirred. “Miss my cat.” He opened his eyes and glanced round in confusion before straightening in the chair, his eyes flickering from the Anders standing over him, to Arden, and finally to Fenris. “Either I’m still dreaming, or....”

“Not a dream Anders, unfortunately for you.” Fenris said quietly.

“You keep using my name,” said Anders quietly as he stared at Fenris. “Not ‘mage’. I’m finding it very hard to get used to coming from your lips. Almost as hard as it is to see two men with my face looking at me.” He leaned forward in the chair. “I can’t remember how I got here. I don’t know what’s going on. What in the Void has happened to me?”

“You followed behind Arden when he came home. You tumbled through after him before it exploded Anders. This isn’t your world, and you are possibly stuck here...Anders.” Fenris said.

The Anders that belonged there shook his head at his double. “I don't know what has happened to you in your world to make you commit such folly Anders, but this isn’t some ideal escape from your life. I’m still possessed, still a runaway warden. Not that much is different. Why did you do it, tell us.” 

“I told you, I don’t remember doing it!” snapped the alien Anders as he pushed himself to his feet. Not his world. The elf’s words had struck a chord deep within him. The elf spoke the truth. He could feel it himself; it wasn’t that everything else was wrong, he was wrong. The wrong Anders in the wrong place.

The Fenris he knew had never disguised his contempt for the apostate healer - but nor had he ever lied to Anders. He halted in front of the elf. “Stuck here. You mean I’m trapped? There’s no way for me to get back, is there?” he asked quietly.

“We don't know. The Eluvian exploded when you came through, so even if the same did not happen in that Kirkwall, it’s no longer an option to get you back. The first time, it was a gem that was missing from the pommel of a sword you...he gave me that was the key.” the elf nodded towards the Anders that belonged there.

“This time, that witch tricked Arden into touching the Eluvian and it drank of his blood. Now, I don’t know what could get you back and the Veil is thin enough here that risking sundering it may not be an option either.” the elf said sadly as he looked up at this not-Anders.

The apostate reeled back as though physically struck. He stared around at them all in turn, seeing only sympathy in their eyes. He turned and stared at Arden, then took a closer step towards him. “I followed you. There must have been a reason.”

“I wasn’t Invictus,” shrugged Arden with a sad look. “I spent three days in your world, and I think you came to realised just how different Kirkwall would have been with a different Hawke. One who had suffered at the hands of templars too, who would never throw a fellow mage to the Gallows. Who would die himself rather than betray you. Who would step in front of a spell meant to destroy you.”

“Who would....” Anders’ voice died away, the words reawakening some fleeting memory.

Without warning, he suddenly lunged for Arden’s throat.

Fenris blocked him and tackled the not-Anders to the ground. “I might be nicer than the Fenris you knew, but I will not tolerate you attacking Arden.” the elf growled in his ear.

The apostate warden that belonged there had called up a sleep spell to put the imposter under if need be, his eyes glowed an ethereal blue as he watched Fenris take down this other version of himself.

“Let me go! damn you, let me go!” he screamed as he struggled beneath the elf, writhing and kicking. “Let me up, damn you!” He jerked his head backwards, smashing it into the elf’s nose as he tried to wrest free.

“Gobdammit!” Fenris stumbled back and clutched at his face. “I’m gomna murber him, ow.”

Anders flung himself at Arden, his hands once more reaching for the other mage’s throat and they went down in a flurry of robes and blond hair. There was the sounds of a brief struggle and then Anders sat up and began to laugh hysterically. “It’s true. The scars. It’s true.”

Arden stared up at him, one hand clutching at the torn laces of his collar, his throat bared. “The....Maker, stand down, Fenris, Anders! It’s OK!”

The elf swayed in their Anders embrace as he clutched at his bloody face. “Not...ok.” he muttered as he swooned into his lovers arms and groaned. “Hate..sight of my blood so much.” he said as his eyes rolled closed and he went limp.

The tall apostate grunted as he struggled to manage the sudden dead weight of the elf in his arms. “Maker, why does this keep happening to me?” he muttered as he dragged the unconscious elf over to the chair with difficulty. He pulled a cloth out from his sleeve and began to clean the blood off Fenris’ face as he healed the bloodied nose. “Honestly, after all the blood he sheds during fights you’d think he’d be better acquainted with the sight of the stuff by now.”

“Yes, I’ll just remind you of that next time you have a panic attack because you woke up in a dark room then, shall I? You spent long enough in the Deep Roads you should be used to it, right?” muttered Arden as he got back to his feet.

Both Anders stared at him, their stricken looks mirroring each other. “That’s a low blow,” breathed his own Anders.

“How can you...?” breathed the other Anders. “It was a whole bloody year!”

“Love - Anders -” Arden groaned. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to say that. Please, I didn’t mean - ugh.” He shook his head and sighed. He glanced at their guest. “I’m sorry. I should not make light of such things. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know… I’m going to take him to bed so he does not murder either of us on sight. Just, watch what you say to me about that. I love you but even I have my limits Hawke.” the right Anders said as he hoisted Fenris up and headed towards the stairs. “I’ll be back down once he’s settled in bed.”

Arden stared at the other Anders who was regarding him warily. “I’m sorry,” said Arden tiredly. He had the overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around the other man but checked himself. This was not his Anders.

“I remember you,” said Anders quietly. “Not well - there’s a lot of stuff still missing. But... bits, coming back to me. Up here.” He gestured at his head. “Your back is scarred. Hawke brought you to my clinic. There was a fight and you stepped into the path of his spell.”

Arden nodded slowly. “I did,” he confirmed. “You healed me.”

“You came to me alone. You showed me your scars. You’d been in the hands of the templars yourself; you understood. Hawke never did. But you did.” He walked slowly towards Arden.

“Whatever it was you said or did... it was enough that I knew I wanted to follow you. I wanted to be in a world where Arden Hawke was the Champion.”

“And now?” asked Arden quietly.

“I found a world that has no room for me in it,” he breathed. “There is already an Anders here, and you love him. Not someone who is just a pale shadow of him. What he would have been without you. I look at him and I see what I could have been. What I can never be.” He groaned, closing his eyes briefly. “Why did you ever have to walk into my clinic?” he breathed.

Arden had no answer for him.

**

Upstairs Fenris had come around just after Anders had reset his nose and wiped his face clean again. “Please tell me I didn’t faint like some maiden again?” the warrior muttered as he looked up at the bed canopy.

“Afraid so love, but I’ve healed you and set your nose so it won’t be crooked later.” his Anders said softly as he swept the elf’s hair away from his face. “I’ll bring you a plate unless you want to come back down with me.” 

“I’m not going to sit up here like some invalid Anders. Let me change shirts and we can go back down.” Fenris slid out of bed and tugged the bloody tunic off in exchange for a clean one. He checked himself in the mirror.

“You’re still as handsome as ever, love,” teased Anders as he leaned over and rested his chin on Fenris’ shoulder from behind.

“Flattery will get you everywhere...tonight” the elf replied and turned his head to kiss the blond mage. “Maker I hate being sandwiched between three tall humans. No, don’t even consider it either. I think that Anders would die of fright if I approached him. But two of you, if he’s half as wanton as you, it would be like Satanalia come early.” Fenris said, his voice husky and his gaze full of promise.

Anders pulled away with a disturbed look in his eyes. “I’ve been accused of self-love more than once, but I think that would be taking it too far for me,” he said, shaking his head. “I will admit there’s a certain allure of someone who knows my body as well as I do from the inside, but that....” He turned away. 

“I saw his scars, love,” he said quietly. “I had no idea they looked as bad as that. I could barely stand to look at them, and he hasn’t seen mine yet. He saw how I reacted though.”

He glanced back at Fenris. “How can you bear to touch me when I am so hideous beneath these robes? How can you stand to touch them? How can either of you bear to be in the same room as me, knowing I’m marked like that?” he whispered.

Fenris came around and held Anders face in his hands. “I may say the same, you know how I feel about my markings yet you both love me, touch me, make me know I am cared for. They are a part of you Anders, they do not diminish you in anyway. They made you more in my eyes because you not only endured, you survived. Do not go down that road again, it does not become you my heart.” he leaned up and kissed Anders slowly, languidly and poured his feelings into it so the mage would know he was cherished as well.

Anders made a small needy sound and dropped to his knees, pulling the elf down with him. He tilted his face upwards, preferring to feel the elf be the one with the advantage of height for once. He gasped into the elf’s mouth, parting his lips willingly and surrendering to the kiss with small whimpers.

Fenris growled softly before he tugged Anders ponytail back and plundered his mouth again. He didn’t care that Aveline, Arden and the other version of his lover were down there. He wanted _his_ Anders then and there.

“They’ll hear you howl for me like the needy, wanton slut you can be for me. You must not care.” he said in the blond’s ear, and pulled the heavy gold hoop between his teeth and tugged.

Anders whimpered a little with the pain. “Do you think I care?” he breathed. “You can make me scream for all I give a damn.” He gasped and shivered, his fingers fumbling with the buckles of his tunic.

“You want to traumatize your other self? Scream and make him come running just to see me fucking you so hard you can’t remember your name? Or do you want to make Aveline turn as red as her hair and avoid looking you in the eye for weeks...again?” Fenris worried the hoop again while he pulled the leather strap free of his lovers hair. “You...do things to me, that I’ve never wanted until you.” the elf rasped before he bit down on the mages earlobe.

“You could gag me,” suggested Anders slyly, watching his love’s face from beneath lowered eyelashes. He drew the faded grey scarf from around his shoulders and slowly twisted it between his hands before he placed it between his teeth and grinned.

“Dirty little mage you are.” Fenris hissed and tied the ends of the scarf loosely behind Anders head. “Oil, be fast about it. I want to take you hard and fast, then you’re going to go downstairs still aching until after dinner. Then maybe I’ll let you find release.” the elf’s eyes were dilated and his hands had gone to the lace of his trousers while he stared down his mage. He thought of using a toy to keep him full, make him squirm through dinner. Anders brought out a side of him that he still struggled with.

Anders reached up to the ends of the scarf and gave them a savage yank, tightening the gag in his own mouth with a hard jerk as his eyes glittered silently. He rose and fetched the oil then stripped his shirt off, throwing it down before unlacing his own pants. Watching the elf with dark amber eyes, he slid them down to his knees and then turned to bend over the writing desk in the corner, spreading his legs as he set the oil down on the edge of the desk, eyes never leaving Fenris’ as he watched him over his shoulder. He crossed his wrists in the small of his back and waited.

“Maker damn me...you make me want to break you to pieces then put you back together.” Fenris murmured as he oiled his fingers and slipped two into his lover, pleased to find him tight even after their fun the night before. “I fucked you senseless just hours ago and here you are, begging for it again.” he hissed.

Anders groaned into the gag and ground himself back onto Fenris’ fingers, canting his hips so the elf could reach deeper, moaning quietly to encourage Fenris.

The elf oiled himself up and kicked the mages feet apart before he slid into him with a groan of his lover’s name. Fenris went hard, fast and deep, his teeth sunk into the other man’s shoulder to keep his growling and moaning quiet. If they heard what was going on, he wanted the others to hear Anders’ giving it up for him.

Anders’ cry of pain was muffled by the gag as he threw his head back, bracing himself against the edge of the desk as he rocked his hips back to meet each thrust. He panted, whimpering with each thrust, his breath coming ragged. He reached back with one hand to clutch at Fenris’ hip as he urged him in deeper and harder, his legs trembling with the effort of keeping himself in place, hips bruising against the wooden edge of the table. He made a whimpering, begging sound in the back of his throat and as the elf thrust deeper into his willing body he had no doubt that without the gag Anders would be babbling incoherently.

Fenris let up on the biting but tugged at the blond hair instead as he glanced up and noticed he could see their reflection in the mirror on the wall. “Look up at us. See how you look getting taken in the middle of the day, while everyone is downstairs, probably wondering what’s taking you so damned long love. You take my cock so well, fuck...make me come, I want to fill you.” Fenris smiled as he saw the look on his lover’s face when he pulled harder on Anders hair, which forced the mage to watch their coupling. His hair had fallen into his face, he knew he looked depraved as he fucked Anders hard and fast but he didn’t care to stop even if Aveline had walked in on them.

Anders watched himself through glazed eyes as Fenris pounded into him, his face flushed, lips swollen around the gag. Fenris looked almost wild and feral, his breathing coming hard as he tossed sweat-damp hair out of his intense green eyes. The slapping of flesh and flesh and the ragged panting of both men was the only sound in the room as Fenris pounded harder, racing towards his own orgasm. Anders groaned, his neck straining, hair gripped firmly in the elf’s fist, and he couldn’t help but grin as he noticed a small trickle of blood wending its way down his chest from the bite wound. Damned if he’d heal that, either. He ground back onto Fenris’ cock, feeling the elf start to stutter. He wasn’t close enough to release yet himself, but this was only half the fun. He groaned, encouraging Fenris.

The elf moaned his lovers name as he started to lose his pace thanks to the orgasm creeping up on him. He kept his eyes open as he watched how he changed his stroke, the way his fingers tightened then fell to the apostate’s neck as he came, his cock jerking with each spurt until he he had to pull away and stagger to the bed before his legs gave out. He looked at Anders the way he held himself so still because Fenris hadn’t allowed him to move yet. 

After a moment, he stood and tugged the mage to their bedside. “Pick one of those toys you like so much and slide it in, I want you to wear it until after dinner then if you’re a good mage, Arden will get to make you come. If you’re bad, you get nothing.” 

Still gagged, Anders nodded silently, his breath whistling slightly through his nose, still panting slightly. He went and looked over the toys then selected a string of large, heavy beads. He made his way back to the desk and after glancing over his shoulder to see if Fenris was still watching, he bent over. With one hand bracing him up, he slowly inserted the beads, a faint, breathy needy noise accompanying each one until all had been inserted, then he lowered his forehead to the desk, breathing hard as he adjusted to the feel of the heavy metal balls inside. They shifted with each slight movement, and he shuddered.

He stayed still, awaiting further orders, quivering with anticipation. Fenis cleaned himself off then wiped away the excess oil from his lover. He kissed Anders slowly and gently, his mood was still hot but he’d hold off until after they’d eaten then he’d have his way. Somethin about Anders tripped his dominant side into action and sometimes he reveled in it, other times the intensity frightened him. This was one of the times he reveled in the control he was given. 

“Get dressed and let’s go downstairs. After dinner you’ll return to our room and I’ll decide on whether you get to come or not. You were a good boy for me, thank you Anders.” Fenris trailed blunt nails over the mage’s ass as he passed by on the way to pick up his own clothes.

Anders reached back and tugged the gag loose, then straightened slowly. He took an experimental step and then gasped involuntarily as one of the balls inside shifted and grazed his sweet spot. “Andraste’s ass, I’m going to regret this,” he murmured as he bent over to retrieve his clothes and then shuddered, dropping to his knees with a groan. He fought to control his breathing, slowly pushing himself back up before getting dressed with careful, deliberate movements, trying to keep as still as possible.

Trying to get his pants on was an exercise in frustration. He panted as his body twitched and jerked. “Maker... I can’t....” He bit down on his fist as he felt a tense heat coiling in his groin. He panted hard, then tugged the pants up over his hips. As the fabric pushed against his full entrance he swore and pitched down face first onto the bed, his body twitching as he fought to control himself. “This isn’t... Fen, I can’t...” he gave up and groaned into the bedcovers.

Fenris turned and smirked at the way his lover squirmed on the bed. “You agreed did you not?” he rumbled in Anders ear before he bit the top of it. He had to stand back before he fell over in laughter and tears at the blond mages predicament. 

Anders whimpered and lifted his head, face flushed as he panted. “I swear, you better fuck me so hard into the mattress later they’ll hear me screaming in Rivain, Fenris,” he groaned as he slowly pushed himself back up, his body making little twitching jerks as he stood up again and pulled his shirt on. “You’d better fuck me so hard I don’t just forget my name but what year it is and what I had for breakfast. And you better fucking break me completely or I swear I’ll have my revenge on you!” He pulled on his tunic and reached for his jacket slowly. “Damned if I - ah, fuck, fuck fuck fuck....” He froze and panted until the urge to come had subsided a little. “You are damned evil, elf,” he finally gasped.

Fenris gave up the fight not to laugh as he let his voice drop to the low purr he knew turned both his lovers on, and laughed long and hard at the predicament Anders was in. He strode over and pulled his mage down so they were face to face so he could see the devilish grin he wore. “Are you a good mage Anders? Do you want to please me or disgrace yourself downstairs in front of our friends and your other self? I bet he’d drop dead if he saw how you can barely keep from coming all on my say so. OR do you want me to fuck you over the dining room table and make you holler loud enough to bring the guard...again?”

“Not fair,” whined Anders, trembling. “Stop it love. Please. Let’s just get this meal over before I just forget myself completely.” There was a faint look of genuine distress in Anders’ eyes as he fought to keep himself under control; he knew that the meal would take every ounce of discipline he possessed.

Fenris’ smirk fell as he looked at Anders with concern. Fun was fun but he didn’t want to cause the mage distress. “Are you ok, really? I enjoy your submission but if this is truly hurting or bothering you...tell me beloved.” 

“I can handle it,” breathed Anders. “Just... ease up on the teasing love, please? I want to prove I can earn this. It’s just... Maker... just taking a little more self-control than I thought it would.” He concentrated on breathing through his nose whilst thinking hard about the least sexy things he could imagine. Orsino doing a strip tease on the steps of the Gallows. Meredith - anything involving Meredith was good. Orsino AND Meredith. He felt the urge subside a little.

“Let’s go before you kill me,” he breathed with a faint smile.

“Very well but if its too much remove them. I will not have you hurt for my pleasure no matter what we play at.” Fenris grinned at him then headed downstairs to find everyone turning to stare at him as he entered the kitchen. “What?” he asked as he filled a plate and sat next to Arden.

“Anders, are you OK?” asked Arden quietly as Anders moved slowly and cautiously around the room towards his seat.

“I fell over,” he said tersely.

“Doing what?” asked Arden curiously.

Anders darted a glance at Fenris then coloured as he lowered himself gingerly into his seat. “Trying to reach something in a cupboard. The....” he drew a shuddering breath. “The chair shifted.”

“Want me to check you over?” asked Arden with a look of concern.

“NO! No. That won’t be needed,” said Anders hurriedly. “I’ll be OK. I’ll take a potion later.”

The other Anders was staring at him with suspicious eyes. “You’re bleeding,” he remarked. “I can see blood on your neck. And why is the skin at the corners of your mouth chafed?”

Anders froze and darted an alarmed look at Fenris. The other Anders followed his glance and his eyes narrowed as he pushed himself to his feet. “How dare you?” he said quietly. “I wondered how on earth it was that I could come to willingly share someone I loved with a mage-hating elf, and now I think I understand.”

He threw a glance at the other Anders who had buried his face in his hands with a groan. “You don’t have to let him do this to you,” he said quietly. “You- we’re strong. We haven’t faced down templars and darkspawn just so some pissant elf with a power complex can abuse us. You don’t have to put up with this!”

Fenris sat there with his mouth hanging open in shock at what this not-their-Anders had accused him of. He dropped his fork and leaned over the table so he could get into the other mages face. “I would not abuse him you fucking idiot. Arden would never stand for it, even if I’d gotten it in my head to do so. We...Void, I’m sorry love.” He glanced apologetically at the other Anders who looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and disappear himself.

“We play a little rough, he...we, oh fuck why am I even explaining this to you, you don’t even go here.” the elf threw his napkin down and sat back in his chair, his expression murderous.

Aveline coughed and scooted back from the table. “I think I need to go, Donnic is probably worried about me and I’ve got paperwork, yes plenty of paperwork to do. Farewell.” the guardswoman left quickly so she wouldn’t be witness to the explosion that was brewing.

Anders raised his head from his hands, his face flushed red. “I asked him to do it to me.”

The other Anders rocked back on his heels. “....what?”

Anders nodded grimly. “I asked him. I practically begged him. You want to know why?”

The other Anders nodded.

“Because I FUCKING LIKE IT. Because you know damned well I like a big fat cock rammed hard up my arse and to be ridden until I scream myself hoarse. Because I like someone who dominates me, who bites me till I bleed, who pulls my hair and gags me so no matter how loud I scream it doesn’t matter. Someone who fucks me blind then fucks me again for the hell of it. And I love being helpless in the hands of someone who could easily kill me if he chose and can hold my life in his hands but doesn’t want to hurt me because he fucking loves me.” He slammed his hands on the table and stood up but then paused as his expression changed. He bowed his head and groaned, a low, throaty, needy sound.

The other Anders was bright red, eyes wide. Arden had hidden his face in his hands with an expression of “oh fuck let the floor just swallow me whole any time right now thank you very much”.

Fenris had crawled under the table and laid down on the floor out of a desire not to start giggling or crying from laughter. He shouldn’t take such delight in the gobsmacked expression on the other mage’s face but he couldn’t help it. He knew he was about a shade shy of crimson even as he did his best not to laugh so hard he hurt something.

The elf finally crawled from under the table and chugged his drink before he spoke. “I have a feeling you are nowhere near as interested in being on the receiving end of such attentions in your world.” Fenris got out before he laid his head down and cackled. “Oh Maker, I’m going to die because I can’t breathe for laughing, help.” he gasped between laughs.

The other Anders stepped back. “I....” He fell silent, a hurt look on his face. He’d had desires and needs. He was still a man. In his world there had been no-one however. He stared at his counterpart with an indescribable look before he turned to stare at Fenris. He wanted to snarl at him that the elf was the last person on earth he would have allowed to touch him, and yet.... He stared back at the other Anders, who was regarding him silently, his head lowered as he braced himself upon the table with his hands.

“You have no idea,” he breathed, and fled from the room.

Arden groaned. “Nice one, boys,” he said as he reached for the flagon of wine and took a long pull direct from it. He levelled a stern glare at Fenris. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with Anders or why he’s standing like that, nor do I want to. You can damned well do something about it. Just.... clear the damned table first, OK? And Makers’ sakes, gag him again so we don’t have to hear.”

He got up, still holding the flagon. “I’ll go after him. Make it quick and then get him upstairs.” He stalked from the room.

Fenris shot up and called after Arden. “Wait, come here… love, please.”

He turned back and glared at Fenris. “Have you any idea what your little games have just done to his head?” he growled. “What the hell were you thinking? You may as well have just started rutting on the table right in front of him!”

The elf pulled up short and dropped his head in contrition. “Arden...love, please I’m sorry. I didn’t think he’d jump to that conclusion of all things. Anders, he, ah..fuck just go upstairs and do what you need to. I’ll clean up down here.” Fenris hated when Arden got angry with him, and it showed. “Apologies Arden, I will be more careful while our guest is here.”

Arden’s face softened and he reached out for the elf, drawing him into his arms. “You’ve both had me for over two years, love,” he said quietly. “He has had no-one, unless he’s taken himself down to the Blooming Rose and offered himself there. No-one who actually loved him, who would see past the scars, the dirt and the pain, who wanted him for himself. Please... be gentle on him, love. Try not to flaunt what he has been denied. he’s been a very lonely man.” He gently kissed the elf, then whispered in his ear, “Tonight, love. Anything you like.” He pulled away.

“The urge has passed, forgive me if I am not in such a mood later. Go on, I’ll clean up and go to the study to read for a while. I’m sorry Arden, so sorry.” Fenris kissed him on the cheek and turned to gather their dishes.

Anders leaned on the table, aware of the discussion but lost in a world of internal sensation he was really in no mood for. He didn’t think he could make it to the bedroom, but nor was he about to take care of his needs right in the middle of the kitchen. He managed to pull himself upright, lurching the few steps to the laundry where he slammed the door shut before staggering over to the large laundry pot. Leaning over the edge, he managed to tug his pants down then with trembling fingers, he drew out the string of beads with a series of small cries as each one shifted and brushed his sweet spot. As the last one slipped free he dropped to his knees before taking himself in hand with feelings of self-revulsion. 

Release brought only physical relief but did nothing for his state of mind.

When he emerged from the laundry a little while later, he kept his head down and didn’t meet Fenris’ eyes as he headed towards the stairs.

The elf called out to him as he shook his hands dry and turned to face his lover. “Anders, I apologize for giving anyone a reason to think I might have hurt you. You know I wouldn’t abuse you any further.” 

Anders halted, his eyes still on the floor. “I know,” he nodded. “You do nothing to me that I don’t already want. If I asked you to stop, I have every confidence you would.” He lifted his head slightly. “I have never yet had cause to ask you to stop.”

“Please look at me when you say that. I already feel like a heel. I hate...just look at me.” the elf asked as he tried to keep calm and not beg for Anders to tell him he wasn’t a terrible person.

Anders lifted his head. “Love, you have never gone too far. If anything, sometimes you haven’t gone far enough for my needs. I don’t dare ask those things of you though, because that would cross the line into abuse - but it would be me abusing you, not the other way round. I won’t make you do that, to me or Arden either.”

“Alright, thank you.” Fenris said before he threw the dish towel into the sink and fell into the nearest chair and covered his face with his hands. He was a lot of things, but the thought he’d intentionally abuse Anders had gotten to him in a way many insults couldn’t.

Anders dropped down into a crouch next to his love and rested his cheek upon Fenris’ thigh. “You’ve never abused me, love,” he said quietly. “I feel safer in your hands than I have ever done with anyone else save Arden. Even in our roughest games when you have me screaming and bleeding, I feel safe. I know you would never lay a hand on me in anger.”

Fenris didn’t speak, he just put his head on his folded arms and tried to hold in his emotions. He knew they didn’t like it when he had a meltdown and he was well on the way to one. How had that other version of his lover rattled him so quickly. 

Anders glanced up, his expression troubled. It scared him when Fenris withdrew like this. He knelt down and rested his hands on the elf’s knee, resting his chin on top as he stared up at fenris with worried eyes, afraid to speak. After long minutes like that, he breathed quietly, “I love you.”

The elf reached down and carded his fingers through his lovers head and replied in kind, softly before he wiped at his face and pulled away from the table. “I’ll be in the study, I missed my last few reading lessons with Donnic so I need to review before I meet him again.” He dropped a kiss on the crown of his Anders head and made for the stairs.

Anders remained on his knees and watched him go, his heart aching for the white-haired elf.

After a while, he pushed himself to his feet and headed out into the foyer. He pushed the front door open and took a deep breath of the cool night air. Drawing his jacket closer around his shoulders, he stepped out into the street to be alone with his thoughts for an hour or two.

Fenris hurried past the room that the not-Anders had been given and hid out in the study for the evening with his books and a bottle of Antivan white until he felt he could face his lovers.

**

Anders had curled up in the bed after he’d vaulted from the kitchen. He’d made a mess of things with this Hawke that could have been his brother and another him that was cared for, apparently loved despite the way he’d let Fenris take him and use him. He’d hoped the floor would swallow him whole, but that didn’t happen; instead the door opened and this other Hawke came to see him.

Arden peered round the door to what had been Carver’s room - still would be, if ever his brother were allowed time away from his duties in the Grey Wardens, he told himself, even though it had been years and his last three letters had gone unanswered. He regarded the form huddled in the bed and silently sighed.

“May I come in?” he asked gently.

“It’s your house, I’m the unwanted one here.” Anders said even as he uncurled and looked at Arden with resentment the mage did not deserve. 

“You are a guest under my roof,” corrected Arden. “Due all the respect and courtesy of such.” He waited patiently in the doorway, not setting so much as a hair over the threshold as he watched the blond apostate.

“Whatever you want Hawke. I suppose you would like me to apologize to them for accusing Fenris of abuse?” he said waspishly even as he pulled his jacket tighter to him and stared at Arden with ill disguised worry he was about to be set out on the street for his transgression.

Arden leaned against the door frame, cradling his bandaged hand in the unharmed one, rubbing his thumb over the palm. It itched, as the other Fenris had warned him it would, the stitches sore. He tried to ignore it, focussing on Anders.

“Not what I want,” he corrected. “I will not ask anything of you that you do not wish to do, Anders.” He gestured towards the chair near the bed. “Can I come in? Or shall I sit down here on the floor?”

“Come in already.” Anders snapped and waited for Arden to come in. “I offended your lovers, I’m sure you would like me to apologize.”

Arden slipped into the room and took the chair, resting his hand in his lap. “Where would be the point in that?” he asked in a reasonable tone. “From your position and with your experiences, it was an entirely reasonable assumption to make.”

“Regardless, it made things uncomfortable for you in your own home. I will look into ways to get home tomorrow, hopefully your library has something about this. If not, then I don’t know what I’ll do.” Anders knew he was being bullheaded but he didn’t care.

Arden laughed. “Trust me, if there was anything of use in my library I would have found it whilst Invictus was trapped in my world,” he replied, and tugged the white lock in his hair. “Did you think this mere affectation? My hair used to look exactly like yours until Vic showed up. Having two Hawkes in one world is... not conducive to the wellbeing of either, it seems. Having him in my world nearly killed me physically and did a number on him mentally. Having me there... well, maybe the circumstances were different.” He rubbed his palm absently again. “This time?” He regarded Anders with real concern in his eyes. “I want you back in your own world, but not for the reasons you might think, Anders. I am afraid for you, the longer you remain here. But I know there is nothing in my library that will help you, and the Eluvian was destroyed. I still have Sandal’s runestone, but without an Eluvian....” He shrugged.

The blond mage shrugged noncommittally. “Perhaps the Dalish can be of use or the...Hero, no there’s no guarantee the warden commander would help me. More than likely he’s skin me or throw me in the nearest Deep Roads entrance and leave me for desertion.”

Arden’s face hardened. “I will never surrender you to the Wardens so long as even one templar remains at any Grey Warden keep in all of Thedas,” he ground out, fire flashing dangerously in the depths of his amber eyes. “You think I would hand you back to the ones who let the templars lay their hands on you? Who pushed you into Justice’s embrace in the first place?” He leaned forward and fixed Anders with his glare. “I. Would. Die. First.”

Anders swallowed and backed away from the intensity the other mage displayed. “It was just an idea, they do have access to books the Chantry outlaws. Never mind. It’s not like I could make it all the way to Vigil’s Keep without being picked up by a patrol out of here or Ansburg. Forget I said anything about them.” 

He fiddled with the bedding and sighed. “You should go to them, I’ll be fine. Hopefully when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll remember that I am far from home.”

Arden slumped back in his chair and drew a hand across his brow, drawing a tired breath. “No, they need a little time... I was pretty angry at them. Furious in fact.” He glanced up at Anders and leaned forward again. “You may not be in your own Kirkwall but you are not without at least one friend here, Anders,” he said quietly. “I will do all in my power to help you, believe me.”

“I don’t want to be on the receiving end of their anger. It was a bit unnerving to see myself so riled up and in defence of Fenris of all people.” Anders leaned back against the headboard and sighed. “Thank you, it’s nice to know I’m not entirely alone here.”

“Fenris saw Anders nearly die,” said Arden softly. “With his last strength, Anders still tried to heal Fenris even as he was bleeding to death, ever the altruist and healer.” He rose to his feet and stared down at Anders. “That apostate put healing others ahead of his own needs even in dying. How can any man stand by and watch that and remain unaffected?” He lifted one leg and sat on the edge of the bed. “Anders... have you ever seen yourself before in defence of something you treasure?” he smiled. “You are pretty terrifying, even without Justice. I think stepping between you and Vic is one of the more terrifying things I’ve done. Add in Justice....” He shook his head and laughed. “Next time I do something that stupid, slap me.”

“Not really, it wouldn’t be kind.” Anders sighed and thumped his head on the headboard. “What did I do? I’m not needed here, I’m not wanted after that display downstairs and there’s likely no way for me to get home. I don’t know any of these people you do. I know versions of them, and so far none of them match to what I know.”

“I understand,” said Arden quietly. “Your world was so familiar and yet so alien to me. When first I arrived at what I thought was my own home and Fenris glared at me as though I were some piece of dirt he’d shaken off his foot... I thought I was going to throw up, or pass out, or maybe both on the spot. To have friends, loved ones, stare at me like I was some strange ghost with your face - I spent nearly the whole three days I was in your world feeling like I’d stumbled at the top of a flight of stairs and was in perpetual freefall. I didn’t belong there, and the longer I was there the worse it got.” He reached out without thinking and brushed a stray strand of hair out of Anders’ eyes before dropping his hand back to his lap.

“I bet, it’s not like he’s the friendliest person to run across when you’re already out of sorts. I’m sorry I dashed after you. I wasn’t thinking, but now that I’m here I might as well be useful until we learn whether or not I can ever get back.” Anders blew the lock of hair that was perpetually in his eyes away again in irritation.

Arden laughed and reached to brush it back again. “Mine’s always doing that too, there’s always that one strand....” He leaned closer to tuck the errant strand behind Anders’ ear, his eyes darting over to meet Anders’ glance.

“I might let it grow out, I always regretted chopping it off even if it meant another way to slip around unnoticed as I left Ferelden. It’s late, you should be with them. We can talk more tomorrow.” He gave his almost twin a weak smile before he scooted under the covers. “Thank you, for not just turning me out to the street.”

Arden tugged the covers straight, hiding a wince behind his hair as he shifted back. He glanced back into Anders’ eyes. “I am not Invictus Hawke,” he said steadily. “I turn no mage away from my door. Ever.”

He rose to his feet. “Will you be able to sleep?” he asked quietly. “An- I mean - I sometimes find it hard to sleep, I have a potion for the bad nights,” he said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. He did have bad nights. Just not as often as Anders. “I can bring you some if you think you’ll need it?”

“No, I’ll be fine for now. I’m too exhausted to stay up for much longer Arden. Thank you though.” Anders closed his eyes and muttered good night tiredly.

Arden left the candles burning softly as he withdrew from the room and made his way to his own chamber. He slipped in silently and made his way over to the wardrobe, stripping off his robes before looking around. The bedchamber was empty.

Frowning, he pulled on his house-robe, pulling it closed as he padded barefoot into the study. “Anders? Fenris?” he called softly.

Fenris debated not answering but decided against that since Arden was already angry with him. “I’m here Arden, I’ll be along later.” the elf said from his corner seat, a book in front of his face and a nearly empty bottle at his feet.

Rather than angry, Arden’s expression was one of relief as he padded over to the window on silent feet and bent over to kiss the white hair, holding his robe closed with his good hand. “I was worried when I found the bedroom empty. Where’s Anders?”

“I don’t know, I came up to the study to read after I finished cleaning the kitchen. He..took care of his own need before he passed through and to wherever he went.” Fenris didn’t flinch from the touch, but he wasn’t effusive with his lover either. “I’m sure he didn’t go far.”

Arden gently stroked Fenris’ cheek with the backs of his fingers, the linen of the bandage soft and warm against the elf’s skin. “I hope not, that was some time ago.” He pulled away reluctantly. “Come join me soon love?” His tone was plaintive.

“As you wish, I’m nearly done with this chapter.” the elf said quietly. He hadn’t been reading much of anything for the last couple of hours, and he simply flipped pages to make it seem as if he was reading.

Arden nodded and made his way downstairs to see if he could find Anders.

It was about a quarter of an hour later that Arden burst back into the study looking alarmed. “I can’t find Anders,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “He’s not anywhere in the house.”

Fenris dropped the book and jumped out of his chair. “Maker Arden, you’re going to startle the fuck out me one day and give me a heart attack. Which Anders is missing?”

“Our Anders!” replied Arden. “The other one is asleep, I just checked on him. Our Anders is gone. Think - how long ago did you last see him?”

“Four hours at the most. Did you check the garden or the sitting area outside the front door? Remember he’ll disappear out there sometimes for a full day.” Fenris headed out to check the garden and still his racing heart. “You check the front door, I’ve got the back covered.”

Fenris had only been in the empty garden a couple of minutes when Arden came looking for him. “He’s not there,” he said, shivering in the cold night air. “Fenris....what if something happened? Templars or....” he couldn’t finish the thought.

“Venehedis, this world does not need two of him. Get dressed, I’ll check the clinic and if he’s not there, then I’ll work backwards. You start at the Hanged Man.” Fenris snarled as he headed inside to get dressed for traipsing around seeking his lover.

Arden nodded and followed him in. He stripped out of the house-robe and reached for one of his older robes, one he’d worn in his mercenary days with Athenril. “Let’s go,” he said. “Meet back here in one hour if you don’t find him.”

“Yes… be careful.” Fenris vaulted down the steps towards Darktown, his mind whirling with the fear that Anders had gotten picked up by the templars.

Anders wandered along, enjoying the cool night air as he made his way slowly back up towards Hightown. His mother’s pillow was tucked safely inside his coat, and he’d filled his pockets and pouches with a few potions he’d been meaning to bring back to the house, including the sleeping draught. He used it only rarely, but he had the feeling it may be handy if the other Anders had problems sleeping. He’d tucked a few extra vials of lyrium in his belt pouch as well; you could never tell when they might come in handy.

He paused by one overhang and glanced across the lower parts of the city down towards the harbour. It was a beautiful night, if cold. The moon reflected off the dark waters of the harbour, the Gallows standing silent and forbidden on the far side.

Fenris nearly missed the sight of his lover standing there, staring upward at the sky. If he hadn’t needed to skirt around the person he would have missed Anders entirely. “What are you doing out here? Arden is frantic and we’re both looking for you.” he admonished the blond mage.

“I was looking at the stars,” said Anders quietly. “You can’t see them from Darktown,” he added wistfully.

Fenris wanted to scream at his lover but he refrained. “Let’s just go to the Hanged Man, Arden was going there to look for you, I was headed to the clinic. I do not need to worry you’ve been snatched up by Templars after the day we’ve had.”

“I’m sorry love, I didn’t mean to worry you,” Anders replied, chastened. “Let’s go find Arden.”

“Then I am going to bed, two of you is going to be the death of me.” Fenris pointed towards the bar they frequented with an impatient glare.

Though it was long past midnight, the Hanged Man was never closed and tonight was no exception. Corff jerked a thumb upwards as they entered. “Champion’s upstairs,” he told them. “There’s been trouble.”

‘Fenris ground his teeth and tromped up the stairs with a scowl that rivaled any Chantry sisters on a good day. He opened the door and entered to find Arden in Varric’s rooms. “What happened?” was all he asked.

Arden held still as Isabela continued to dab at a nasty-looking cut across Arden’s forehead. “Your boyfriend ran into trouble on the way over here.”

“You should see the other guys,” added Varric with a smile.

Arden raised a hand in greeting and smiled lopsidedly. “I forgot to duck,” he confessed.

Fenris just sat at the table, and pinched the bridge of his nose so he wouldn’t start swearing and scare his lovers. He didn’t look up but simply asked who he needed to kill next. “You forgot to duck? Who hit you and who do I need to kill?” the elf said tiredly.

“Carta,” replied Varric. “Eight of them, and they’re already dead.”

“Was it eight? I knew there were at least six,” murmured Arden as Anders brushed Isabela aside and took Arden’s chin in his hand, tilting it up so he could inspect the wound better. “They were after Anders. Did you forget to pay them this month Varric?”

“No, but it wouldn’t be the first time they got greedy,” replied the dwarf.

“You pay the Carta to protect me?” exclaimed Anders as he started healing the cut.

“More to look the other way, Blondie,” replied Varric. “Sometimes someone pays them more, and I have to remind them of the value of a loyal customer.” 

“I’ll remind them myself, once I have had a few hours rest.” Fenris muttered angrily. He was so done with the day, there were no words in any language he knew that would suffice.

“Love, I am so sorry-” began Anders, but Arden raised his hand. 

“Enough,” he said quietly. “It’s late, and I think Fenris has the right idea. We’re all tired and I think I need about a week of sleep. Or will when my head stops ringing.” He smiled to take any sting out of his words.

“You’re always welcome to stay here, sweet thing,” purred Isabela with a smile.

“Hawke has to get home, Rivaini, it’s not a social call,” Varric reminded her.

Fenris snarled at her as he held his hand out for Arden to rise and join him. “Isabela, I’ve got no patience left right now. Cease your flirtation before I forget I actually like you. Let’s go, both of you.” 

Isabela lifted her hands in surrender. She knew better than to push it when Fenris was like this.

Anders slipped a hand around Arden’s waist.

“Thanks for the help, Varric, Bela,” said Arden as they headed back to the stairs. 

“Any time, Hawke,” called Varric.

They headed back towards Hightown, Arden quiet between his two lovers.

Fenris was surly until they were home, the door was locked and he had put his weapon on the rack by the door. He let go of Arden and Anders only because they were home and he could relax. “I’m going to bed, wake me at your own peril.”

Anders helped Arden undress, the blond Champion still a little woozy from concussion, then the two mages slid into bed with the elf. Arden spooned up against Fenris’ back, the healer snuggled up behind him. Arden bestowed a gentle kiss upon the elf’s temple before curling up to him. Soft snores came from Anders almost from the moment his head hit the pillow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debts come due for Invictus, Fenris gets his payback but was it the coin he wanted? There can only be one takes on a whole new meaning for Justice and Anders.

Fenris slept in until the smell of food made it impossible to sleep further. He crept down to find Arden and both Anders talking quietly at the table. He wouldn’t have said anything until he had a plate and a mug of coffee in front of him but the way Arden was favoring one hand as he ate caught his eye. “Arden, where did that bandage come from?”

“I caught my hand on the Eluvian four? Five days ago? It’s nothing - it’s healing,” he said, dismissing it. “Your counterpart stitched it for me.”

“Stitched it?” echoed their Anders. “It shouldn’t have needed stitching, you’re a healer, nearly as good as I am.”

Arden shrugged. “There was a splinter; it took some digging to get it out.” He felt reluctant to admit to blood magic being part of the reason, even if it had been unwitting blood magic. Anders would have been horrified - he didn’t want to imagine Fenris’ face if he’d mentioned the whole of how he’d gotten there, never dreaming that Fenris knew far more than he did.

“Would that have been before or after Merrill tricked you into touching that damned Mirror of hers?” Fenris said frostily and held his hand out to see the wounded hand.

“You - you knew?” breathed Arden, holding his hand to his chest, the palm curled in towards himself.

“Yes, we did. Now give me your hand Arden.” Fenris didn’t waver and if his lover kept trying to hide his injury he’d get cross before breakfast.

“Arden, don’t try to act as if you don’t want him to look. You know how he can be.” The right Anders said between bites.

Wordlessly Arden began to unwind the bandage, stripping it off before holding out his hand, never taking his eyes off Fenris. The black silk stitches stretched taut across the shiny new-formed skin, the flesh around the edges puffy and inflamed.

Fenris frowned as he inspected the wound then grunted at the well done stitching. “Seems my other self is a decent field medic. I’m satisfied, thank you.” the elf went back to his meal, his mood dark until he’d cleared most of his plate.

Both Anders craned their heads to look at Arden’s hand.

“I don’t like the looks of the skin around those stitches,” said the alien Anders.

“Mmm, probably ought to be removed,” agreed the other. “Let me get a sharp knife.”

“Where do you keep your elfroot tincture?” asked the other as he pushed himself up from the table.

“Shelf in the pantry - left hand side, third up.”

Arden blinked as the two Anders swung into action. They were both calm, competent, professional; the one with a gold hoop at his ear, selecting a sharp knife, cauterising it with a wash of flame before bringing it over to the table with a bowl of hot water; the other with a small bottle of tincture, coming to seat himself at Arden’s other side and holding out his hand. He took Arden’s wrist and held it steady as his counterpart passed him the knife. As he gently sliced through the silk, the other Anders readied a pad of cloth, moistening it with the tincture.

The first Anders laid down the knife and took up the small set of tweezers the second Anders had laid out, and deftly tweaked out the stitches before the second Anders quietly wiped the wounds with the pad.

They bathed and dressed the wound between them, then cleared away everything in silence. 

Arden blinked and glanced at Fenris. The two Anders had worked in perfect harmony together, each almost sensing the other’s next steps - because it was precisely what they each would have done next if working alone.

“Can you imagine these two working in the clinic together?” he breathed. “Or fighting?”

“Or fucking” Fenris muttered in Tevinter as he watched how Arden’s eyes had lit up watching the two Anders work in tandem.

Both Anders turned and stared at him.

Fenris returned their look and went “What?”

The two mages continued to stare at him in silence, and then as one turned away.

“That’s just creepy, stop it.” the elf said as he finished his meal and backed out of the room. “The world does not need two of you, especially if you are going to do things like that all the time.” Fenris was a bit shaken but he didn’t want to show it. Instead he grabbed their plates and started to fill the sink, it was his day for household chores despite the weirdness that had come along with Arden.

“That wasn’t nice, you two,” said Arden quietly. His Anders tilted his head slightly, not quite looking at him, a small smirk playing about his lips before leaning over and whispering something to the other Anders, who glanced back at Arden before nodding. They both quietly got up and left the room. Arden suppressed a shiver.

Fenris didn't’ turn around until the dishes were clean and he realized the other mages were gone. “I might just put a bell on one of them, that’s just ...wrong that they suddenly clicked together.” the elf slid back to the table and dried his hands before he leanedleaned back and stared at Arden. “What do we do now?”

“Good question,” conceded Arden as he rose to his feet and began brewing them a pot of tea. “That was uncanny watching them work together.” He set a mug before Fenris and reached for the caddy of the elf’s favourite blend.

“Yes, and them just staring at me….ugh.” the elf shuddered before he took the offered mug and held it in his hands gratefully.

“Anders was due to work in his clinic today. People are familiar enough with seeing me helping him that it won’t occasion too much talk if they go down together. And two Anders would undoubtedly be better than one Anders plus an Arden. Maybe if we keep him busy he won’t have time to brood or do anything.... hasty.” He dropped tea into the pot and added boiling water before setting it on the table.

Fenris poured a mug after it had steeped for a bit then did the same for Arden. “We can’t keep him like a runaway mabari Arden.”

Arden sighed and sipped his tea. “I know. I have no idea how to send him back.”

“Neither do I, this type of stuff is your area.” Fenris said quietly.

“I’m worried what the longterm effect will be on both of them the longer he’s here,” said Arden, doodling a finger through a drop of water on the table. “It’s bound to be nothing good.”

“Then tomorow we look into solutions and perhaps the witch will have cooled off enough to assist us.” Fenris said as he sipped his tea quietly.

Arden nodded. “It’s... quiet,” he observed suddenly.

“Too quiet” Fenris agreed. “Perhaps we should check on them later.”

Arden glanced around, uneasy. “I wonder what they’re up to?”

**

Anders traced his fingers across the scars slowly. “Maker,” he breathed to himself. 

The other Anders glanced back over his shoulder, the earring glinting in the lights from the window. “You did ask,” he said apologetically.

“I know but....”

“But what? Why are you so shocked? You felt each one when you were whipped, cut, burned and injured. Surely this can be no big shock.”

“You saw my back. You hadn’t realised either,” said Anders distractedly, fingers ghosting feather-light over the raised tissue of a scar that cut across the left shoulder blade. He remembered that one. That had been the heated blade of a templar sword, pressed against his skin as three men held him down and he screamed until he coughed blood. That had been the time they’d promised to bring the brand for him later and make him beg for it. They had come later, without the brand; he’d begged, all the same.

He snatched his fingers away, feeling the memory as it shivered through the other man. 

“I take it you are satisfied with your review of our scars?” The right Anders asked somewhat archly.

He didn’t rise to the tone. He knew the other man was as shaken as he was. “I’m assuming you prefer to avoid a closer look yourself,” he remarked dryly as he sat back and let the other man roll over on the bed. He watched as the other Anders sat up and shook his head, shrugging his shirt back on.

“What does it feel like, to look at me?” he asked quietly. he watched as the other man played with his golden hoop a moment.

“Strange, very strange. You are who I could have become without Arden and Fenris’ love and attention. Without someone who cared and loved me. It’s terrifying really.” The mage sighed and stood up with a slight wince. 

“I think we terrified Fenris just a bit this morning.” the right Anders said softly.

“Maybe,” the alien Anders conceded unwillingly. He looked down for a moment, then lifted his gaze. “Sela petrae,” he said very quietly.

“Sela-- What in the nine hells do you want that for?” he asked his double. 

The other man rose to his feet. “Sela petrae. Drakenstone.” He tilted his head to one side. “Are we then so different? Is compromise truly possible?”

Anders stumbled back in shock at what his other self was suggesting. “That’s … that's the makings of an explosive. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The other Anders smiled sadly. “The Grand Cleric won’t listen, you know,” he said quietly. “Orsino tries to make deals, but Meredith holds all the cards. I had to remove the chance of compromise because there can be no compromise, don’t you see?”

“No because it’s not that bad here. Not with Arden making things better and me not feeling as you do. What in the void were you planning back home? No...I don’t want to know. I need to go you stay here just stay in this room.” Anders backed into the door and fumbled at the latch in his haste to escape.

“Are you truly so blind?” asked the other Anders as his eyes hazed over in blue fire and his voice took on a hollow tone. “Are you so besotted with this Hawke that you do not see what is happening beneath your very nose even here? Is this the Justice we came here for?”

Anders glared at this other him that was broken by the system. “No, you came here because Arden isn’t Invictus. You hoped for paradise, some glimmer of what you do not have there. I am not blinded. You’re the fool Anders.” he replied with a deepening of his voice and fine cracks showing in his fair skin that pooled blue in the small room.

Justice advanced upon Anders, its eyes blazing with blue fire as it slammed its hands against the door either side of Anders’ head. “WHAT IS THIS? THERE CANNOT BE TWO. THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE!”

The Anders that belonged there felt that sensation he hated take over. He felt yanked back through a buttonhole, trapped while the spirit took over. No Justice, don’t do this please? he whispered to the spirit but it ignored him.

 _“WHAT ARE YOU? A DEMON? BEGONE”_ he bellowed in rage as his power surged around his hosts body.

_“VILE SPAWN OF THE VOID! DEMON FILTH, I SHALL DRIVE YOU BACK FROM WHENCE YOU CAME!”_

_“NO YOU WILL DIE, FALL BEFORE ME SCUM.”_ Anders pooled his energy and waited to strike.

Justice grasped Anders’ shoulders as power surged. Somewhere deep inside, walled away inside his mind but still horribly, terribly aware, the Anders from another world screamed silently even as the spirit possessing him drew back a hand to blast the other spirit.

He was still aware when the other Justice struck first with a blast of raw power that tossed him across the room and took out half the room with it. There was a bright flash of blue-white light, and when it cleared only one Justice remained standing, staggering a little with the sheer volume of raw power it possessed.

In the rubble on the far side of the room, Anders sprawled half-buried under the detritus. A last wisp of blue fire drifted up from his lungs to be sucked away into the maelstrom of light that whirled around Justice.

Downstairs, Arden and Fenris froze in their seats, staring at each other with wide eyes as the roars of not one but two Justices reverberated through the house, followed by the sound of an explosion. As dust drifted down from the kitchen ceiling, they leapt to their feet, racing upstairs towards the spare room. 

They halted as they stared at the whirling firestorm of blue light that danced and roared around the possessed mage. _“THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE JUSTICE,”_ the spirit said slowly, but it sounded almost uncertain of itself.

“What have you done?” whispered Arden as he took a halting step toward the spirit.

“Arden, no! Keep back!” cried Fenris, but Arden stepped slowly over a piece of fallen ceiling and came closer to the spirit.

“What did you do?” he breathed.

 _“WHERE THERE WERE TWO, NOW THERE IS ONLY ONE.”_ Justice blinked. _“DID I... ERR?”_

“Oh Maker, Justice. This is wrong. This is very wrong. Would would happen to Anders if you were to be ripped apart from him bodily?”

_“HE WOULD DIE. HE AND I ARE ONE.”_

Arden raised a shaking hand and gestured to the still form that lay in the rubble. “Then consider this: you may have just killed Anders.”

Justice stared at the still mage, then down at its own hands. Anders’ hands. “I... do not understand....” it faltered. Slowly the light died, and then Anders was staring at him with horrified eyes.

“Arden, I didn’t mean to-” he blurted out. 

“Save it,” breathed Arden as he pushed his way into the room. “Fenris?” Leaving the elf to tend to their lover, he picked his way through the rubble until he was at the fallen apostate’s side, and he began to dig the other Anders’ body out of the rubble, his movements becoming frantic.

“Come on, breathe damn you,” he muttered as he tossed aside loose bricks and stone. “Don’t you dare be dead!” He uttered a thankful cry as he saw the chest rise and fall. “He’s still alive!” he called out.

Fenris held up the other mage and helped him to a remaining chair. “Sit down and be quiet.”

Arden gathered up the unconscious Anders carefully in his arms, staring down at the bloodied face worriedly. He rose to his feet, staggering a little under the weight of the unconscious man as he started to pick his way slowly back out of the rubble.

“He’s hurt, badly, but he’s still alive,” he said.

“Get him down to our room, I’ll get my kit.” Fenris said as he headed down to the kitchen for his medical kit. 

Arden nodded and bore the unconscious mage to their room, laying him out on the bed.

Bodhan and Sandal came racing up the stairs. “Messeres, I heard the explosion, is everyone - oh merciful fathers!”

Sandal looked around the room with an impressed look. “Not enchantment,” he said slowly and deliberately.

Fenris vaulted back up the stairs and landed on the bed with his medical tools. “Bodhan, Sandal - out.”

Anders wandered into the room behind Fenris, his long arms wrapped around his body as he stared at Arden who was stripping the robes off the unconscious Anders before tearing open his shirt and laying glowing blue hands upon the pale chest.

“Collapsed lung,” he told Fenris tersely. “Ruptured spleen. Three ribs cracked. Major concussion.”

“Then get to work, all that is beyond my skills.” the elf replied tersely.

Arden nodded, his eyes already closed as he set to work.

“Let me help,” said Anders quietly, drifting up to hover just by Fenris’ elbow. He stared at Arden as he worked on the dying mage. Is that how it had looked when they had both worked to bring him back from death’s door all those years ago?

Fenris stood by and watched helplessly as his Anders worked alongside Arden to save the life of the dying Anders from another world. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of the three men who could have all been born from the same womb.

All three men's eyes were closed. Arden and their Anders worked well together, weaving their healing spells around each other, both preternaturally familiar in their own way with the body beneath their hands - an intimacy that Fenris could never share or fully comprehend.

But he could help, in his own way, uncorking vials of lyrium and thrusting them into the hands of each mage as they faltered, keeping a careful tally. He would not risk either of his loves suffering lyrium poisoning.

“He’ll live,” said Arden tiredly as he sat back. “As to the state of his mind when he awakes... I cannot say.” He glanced at Anders. “I guess something like this was inevitable. Evidently spirits do not like being confronted with themselves.”

“I can only feel one inside me,” said Anders.

Arden shrugged. “Pour more water into the cup, the cup is still filled only with water,” he replied.

Fenris moved to do that and handed Arden the cup, his gaze curious as he looked at the others in the room. “I’ll set Bohdan to getting craftsmen in to repair the room.” 

Arden stared at the cup then covered his face with his hand. “It was a metaphor, love,” he said quietly. “No matter how much of Justice there is in Anders, it’s all Justice. It’s all one spirit.”

Fenris turned away, his face red with embarrassment. “I’ll just see about getting the room fixed then.” It was rare that he missed such things, but it happened on occasion. He blamed the stress of the last couple of days on his lack of perception. Instead of dwelling on it, the elf left the room in search of the dwarven manservant.

Arden glanced at Anders. “How are you feeling now?” he asked, and lifted his hand to forestall the apostate before he could apologise again. “I know you’re sorry. I want to know how you feel.”

“Ashamed I let myself get rattled enough that Justice could take me over that easily,” confessed Anders.

“What were you too talking about?” asked Arden.

“His Kirkwall is a much bleaker place than ours,” said Anders. “He fears there will be no compromise between Orsino and Meredith - that there can be none.”

Arden moved over to a chair and sat down with a sigh. “He may have the right of it,” he said slowly. “It’s getting harder and harder to make Meredith see reason. She chafes that a mage is Champion of Kirkwall, but I have the popular support of the people so she dare not move against me directly. But you’ve seen for yourself how she tightens her grip on the Gallows all the time. Orsino is a good man, a fine diplomat, but Meredith can be reached less and less with reason these days. The Gallows are a powderkeg and unless Orsino finds someway to keep his people under discipline, Meredith will find she’s got more on her plate than a few blood mages here and there.”

“But it won’t come to that,” said Anders. “We’ve been getting them out. And since we took down Alrik conditions have improved beyond measure!”

“Sadly Alrik was not acting alone, Anders, we both know this. I’m trying to find out who else was involved. I have contacts, as do you, but I’m still lacking all the names I need to be able to go to the Grand Cleric.” He sighed.

Fenris returned to the room and slipped an arm around each of his lovers and leaned his head against Arden’s shoulder. “Keep talking, I just needed your touch.”

Smiling fondly, Arden stroked the soft white hair. “We were discussing the problem of the Gallows. There is a storm coming, I fear, and I’m not sure what I can do to avert it. It may be that all I can do is try and protect as many of the innocents as possible.”

“There has to be something more we can do,” insisted Anders, pacing the room.

“Always open to suggestions, love. And no, storming the Chantry and tossing Meredith off the highest tower isn’t an option,” he added as the mage turned with a look in his eye that Arden recognised. “The power balance in Kirkwall right now is precarious at best. I haven’t the power to declare war on the Chantry, much though you’d like me to.”

“Then what shall we do? You see that the templars do not leave Anders alone. Your title alone is what saves you from such scrutiny beloved.” Fenris rumbled from his side. 

“They will not move directly against Anders and Merrill while I live,” said Arden, tapping his fingers on the wooden arm of his chair. “Sooner or later something will tip the balance one way or another though, and we’ll need to be prepared when that day comes. I have sent word to potential allies however; it is to Ferelden’s benefit that Kirkwall remain stable, for instance, and though King Alistair was trained as a templar he has enacted encouraging reformations in the Ferelden Circle. Perhaps with Ferelden as an ally, the Chantry will hold back.”

“I can only hope so for all our sakes.” Fenris stood upright and stretched with a grimace. He was sore and had not slept well even after lying in later than them. “I will be in the study, I’ve got a headache and I’m annoyed, and won’t be good company. Let me know if you need me once he comes around.” 

“I’ll keep watch for a while,” said Arden quietly. 

“As will I,” replied Anders, taking another seat.

They sat back and waited; after a little while Arden was unsurprised to hear a faint snoring from the other mage.

 

**

Invictus swore vehemently as he worked to keep Sebastian conscious. The archer had taken a nasty hit from behind and while nothing was broken, he’d lost a good amount of blood. Potions had only done so much, but he looked pale and couldn’t really respond to the mage’s questions.

“Sebastian, answer me dammit.” Vic snarled as he pumped healing magic into the man’s prone form. The sky blue eyes fell shut and the rogue went limp under his hands. 

“Not dead, please say you’re not dead.” Vic pulled his hands back, covered in the other man’s blood.

“He’s not dead, not yet. Move Vic and let me see if more conventional means will help.” Fenris said as he nudged his lover aside so he could inspect the nearly healed wound. The elf was silent as he worked, save for a request for bandages or more silken thread. He sat back with a low grunt and sighed.

“He’ll live but he needs to stay still and we can’t go anywhere until he’s recovered at least enough to walk. Unless there’s enough wood to make a stretcher once you add in a bit of bedroll. Fuck I’d never thought I’d miss that abomination but his skills are needed.”

Varric shook his head. “Darktown’s been hurting badly without a healer. Since that last sweep of yours Vic, any apostate between here and the slaver tunnels is keeping their head down - and if any of them have healing skills they’re keeping it to themselves.”

“I know...if only Bethany were still…” he cut himself off, no need to add to the grief. “I’ll think of something. I’m a decent healer but not on par with a Spirit Healer. Damn him for his folly.” Invictus grimaced at the blood all over him, his lover and the unconscious rogue laid between them. 

“I’ll try to find a stream or something, and bring back water. You two look out for more pissant roaming thieves.”

Varric shook his head as he watched Hawke go. 

He’d had misgivings when Hawke had told him the healer had skipped town. Hawk hadn’t gone into details, but it seemed entirely out of character for Anders to just up and abandon everything and disappear. Varric had his suspicions, but really it’s a wonder the Champion had let the apostate run loose as long as he had. Sooner or later all mages who crossed paths with the Champion ended up at the Gallows.

He’d not seen any blond bodies hanging from the gibbet; no Tranquil in the Gallows courtyard had Anders’ face. Maybe Hawke had told the truth and simply upped and left.

His absence was felt most in Darktown; there were more bodies these days and more desperation. But they’d all come to regret Anders’ absence recently, even in Hawke’s privileged circle. Wounds that once they would have taken to Anders healed with scars or became infected. One of Aveline’s guardsmen had become a widower and buried his wife and their newborn baby on the same day, both dead in childbirth - and though Aveline never said a word in blame to Hawke about it, it was there in her eyes every time the guard’s name came up in the reports. Anders would have saved them.

Varric had lost half an ear himself, and only Hawke’s desperate attempts at healing had saved the dwarf’s eye; he’d bear the scars from that encounter to his dying day. 

And now it seemed it had nearly cost them the archer. Still might, in fact; Sebastian wasn’t out of the woods yet. Hawke had managed to mostly close the gaping wound in the prince’s side with his own scant healing talents and potions, and Fenris had done what he could with needle, herb and dressings, but it was touch and go whether Sebastian would survive the night. If he did, there would be many long hard months of healing ahead - and yet if Anders had been there, then they would be halfway back to Kirkwall and in the Hanged Man laughing over drinks by tomorrow.

They’d all taken the mage’s presence for granted; he was always there in the background, grumbling on the rare occasions Hawke had a use for him and dragged him along - or whining about injustice when they traipsed back to his clinic after a bad run. But now he was gone and Kirkwall was somehow a worse place for his absence.

Fenris scrubbed himself as best he could then took over sitting vigil over their friend. He kept an eye out for any change in his shallow breathing, in case he called out or by some miracle awoke before dawn. The elf had taken on the role of healer, at least when it came to non-magical work among them. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, just to not stare at the way Sebastian lay so damned still, his body too pale, his hair in disarray. It wasn’t natural for the archer to be quiet like this, he was always moving in some way and this just unnerved the elf.

Invictus had taken the first shift for sleep, while Varric sat by the fire, for once quiet and almost brooding rather than telling tall tales for the amusement of their rag tag group. 

Varric threw another log on the fire then glanced over at the elf where he sat watch over the unconscious archer. “Maybe...” he began. When Fenris raised his head, the dwarf cleared his throat and tried again.

“Maybe we should see if we can find the Dalish. If Hawke hasn’t pissed them off too badly.”

Vic turned over and answered the dwarf, he hadn’t been able to sleep with all the random thoughts in his head and at the mention of the Dalish he’d winced.

“For what? It’s not as if Marethari will welcome me with open arms? I kept the arulin’holm, and now with the Eluvian shattered who knows what she would do if I came begging? I might as well try to summon Fleme---” Vic’s voice dropped off as he stared at Fenris. 

“The amulet, she let me have it as a memento and ...a way to call for help. Just once, but it was the reward for a job well done. Since she won’t teach me how to change into a dragon.” the apostate jumped up and paced around the fire. 

Fenris’ eyes were wide in surprise. He hadn’t yet joined them when Invictus had met the infamous Witch of the Wilds, but he’d heard the tale. “You mean to summon Asha’Bellanar? The Witch of the Wilds? Are you mad?” 

“Maybe I’m just taking a wild guess here, but summoning up a dragon doesn’t exactly sound like one of your smarter ideas, Hawke,” said Varric uneasily.

“What else can I do Varric? Last time this happened, it was something we had to find in the Black Emporium, this time it was that damned mirror. If anyone would know about such things it’s her. Do you understand how desperate I am right now? I can’t keep anyone alive! How long until one of us is killed and it’s my fault?” Vic’s usual stoic mask cracked and he turned away from the dwarf.

Since Arden’s visit, he’d been unsettled emotionally. Not as sure of his decisions to jail his fellow mages and just a little bit remorseful for all he’d done to the apostate despite their differences. Hell if they got Anders back he might just kiss him.

“Woah, woah, back up there,” said Varric as he leaned forward, frowning. “Black Emporium? Mirrors? What’s this all got to do with Anders’ disappearance? And how does a dragon come into all this?”

“Remember, when I disappeared for a few days, about eight, nine months back? Try to remember Varric.” Vic slapped his forehead. “That’s right, you didn’t meet Arden did you? He really only went to Merrill’s and back to my place. Once we’re back in town, I’ll tell you the whole thing and you won’t believe me probably but by Andraste, it’s true.” 

Varric shook his head. “Arden? Who’s this Arden? Hawke, we’re not going anywhere right now - I think you ought to tell me what is going on here? It sounds like you know where Blondie’s gone, and I know that’s not the Gallows.”

Fenris stood up and called out to them. “Vic sit with Sebastian, I’ll explain because you’ve got that look about you like you’re going to snap.”

“Fine.” the dark skinned mage swapped places with his lover, and took up the same careful vigil over their noble friend that the elf had.

Fenris dropped gracefully to the ground and started from the beginning of Vic’s tale, then a vivid recounting of Arden’s visit, ending with their Anders jumping through the Eluvian after the other Hawke. “There you have it, and now Anders is in some other Kirkwall where there’s already an Anders, a me, you, all of us. He was so desperate for something besides this place, he dove after the other Hawke and then glass everywhere.” 

Varric sat back and gave a long, low whistle. “Now I’ve heard everything,” he said. He tapped his lips thoughtfully with a gloved forefinger. “The mirror in the Emporium smashed too, you said? And Merrill’s one when Anders jumped through - presumably because it was only supposed to let one person back through, not two. I’m still hazy how you think adding a dragon to the mix will improve matters any Hawke, but I can see why you’d be desperate enough to try pretty much anything.” He pondered for a moment. “I still think maybe the Dalish would be a better bet - at least for Sebastian’s sake. I think we ought to get him somewhere safe with some chance of healing before we start calling up dragons.”

“Yeah, and the amulet is at home anyway. It’s not like I carry it around with me.” Vic glanced over to Sebastian...and smiled. “We didn’t think to check the one in the Emporium. Maybe ..if it’s still intact and Arden has that rune ...maybe, just maybe. Varric you are fucking brilliant.” 

“That’s why you keep me around, Hawke. That plus my devastating good looks and sound business sense.” The dwarf smiled expansively. 

“If Fenris wouldn’t rip my heart out, I’d kiss you right now. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. Let’s just hope the other me has the same spark tossed at them.” Vic had given up on sleeping so he took watch and let the dwarven bard get some rest. 

Fenris swapped between light dozing and letting Vic get a bit of sleep before the reddish light of pre-dawn kept him from falling back asleep.

A small stone bounced off Fenris’ foot, followed by a second.

The elf didn’t jump up immediately but shifted so he could turn his head slightly and try to figure out what had caused the stones to tumble against him. He disguised his reaching for his sword in a long stretch, just in case he needed it.

Another stone, slightly larger, rattled off the hilt of the sword, and then another stone bounced off Invictus’ boot with a dull thud. They both seemed to have bounced across the small campsite from the shadow of a group of rocks on the other side of the fire.

“Whoever it is, isn’t subtle.” Fenris muttered as he rose and turned towards where the rocks seemed to come from. “It’s a bit early for games, show yourself.”

The shadows shifted slightly, and then a face turned towards the firelight. Hair glinted gold as the figure straightened slightly.

“It seems we meet again, my friends.” Zevran stepped out into the light and executed a graceful bow, then flashed Fenris a grin, all brilliant white teeth and humour.

“Couldn’t you just say good morning like normal people?” Fenris groused as he sheathed his sword and turned to dig through his pack for rations.

“I’m afraid you’ve caught us out without much to offer Zevran, we’re in a bit of jam here.” Vic said from his place next to Sebastian.

“It is as well I bring enough to share then, no?” smiled Zevran as he threw down a brace of rabbits beside the fire before dropping a small satchel at his feet. He dropped gracefully down to sit cross legged by the fire and drew a knife as he began skinning and paunching the rabbits.

“So,” he said conversationally as he spit the rabbits on long sticks and set them to roast over the fire. “I heard many strange things this night. Magic mirrors, strange birds and the men who take their names. Most intriguing. You have quite the adventures, Invictus Hawke.” He opened his satchel and produced some cornmeal and began mixing up flat cakes to toast by the fire.

“You heard the whole thing then?” Vic said woodenly, his attention was all on Sebastian, who seemed on the cusp of waking. 

“Voices carry farther than one may think on a clear night, and Crows have sharp ears,” remarked Zevran as he set water on to boil beside the roasting rabbits. His expression grew grave. “He will awaken in some pain, Hawke. I can ease that pain a little, if you will allow?”

“I would appreciate anything you can do for us.” Invictus said quietly and moved aside so he could go to Fenris and hold his lover for a moment. Everything was going to the Void and in that moment, he felt like it was his fault. 

The Antivan Crow rose to his feet and plucked a couple of small vials from his satchel before making his way to Sebastian’s side. He looked over the wounded man with a professional eye, noting the pallor of his skin and the scent of his breath as he touched a hand lightly to Sebastian’s forehead as the archer groaned, his eyelids fluttering. “Easy, my friend,” he murmured quietly as he checked the pulse. Then he took a small cup little bigger than a thimble from a belt pouch, and carefully measured a few drops from each of the vials into it before setting it to Sebastian’s lips.

“Slowly... easy... good,” said the blond elf softly. A moment later Sebastian’s blue eyes closed again and he slept once more, though his breathing was a little deeper and more even now.

“He will sleep for four hours,” announced Zevran as he returned to the fire.

“Good, hopefully he can make it back to town once he wakes up. So what has you out here? I’d have thought you were well on your way to Antiva and completing your checklist of those who needed a visit from you.” Vic said as he turned a rabbit on the spit.

Fenris was quiet as he minded the flatcakes and slipped them to a tin plate Zevran provided from his pack. He was always shy around the other elf for some reason, he didn’t hold his tongue but he didn’t speak much either.

“This and that,” said the other elf airily with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “A chance encounter with a pretty little red-headed bird who told me a most fascinating story, a merchant who let slip that someone requiring my particular attention had turned up in Kirkwall. It seems a shame to go all the way to Antiva only to come back for one little tick on my list if you follow my meaning. And then I heard a familiar voice and thought maybe I would learn what it is that Hawke seeks in mirrors beside his own handsome reflection, no?” He winked at the Champion.

“Were it only so simple friend. I don’t know if you knew Anders at all but, well you heard the story so you know he’s somewhere else. Some other Kirkwall that a rather fair version of me hails from and until now, we didn’t think of how much he was needed. I can heal, but my power lies more in Force than Creation. Maker take me for admitting it, but we need that idiot.” Vic said irritably.

He took a plate and filled it for all of them before he set some aside for Sebastian when he awoke. “I’m glad you have come upon us, even if its by chance.”

Zevran poked the fire with a stick. “Maybe less chance than you think,” he said quietly. “This little red-headed songbird I mentioned told me a storm is coming, and crows must fly where the storm blows betimes.” He raised an eyebrow. “Strictly business, you understand.”

He reached into his satchel and brought out a piece of honeycomb wrapped in green leaves. “Cornbread is so tasteless without a little sweetness I find,” he remarked. “We must take the sweetness in life as we find it I think.”

“True enough.” Fenris said as he took a bit of honeycomb from the other elf and drizzled what he could over his own piece of bread. He didn’t know what to make of the former Crow, so he didn’t try. Even Vic had asked him about his reticence around the Antivan, but the Tevinter elf had refused to speak on it. “Will you be coming with us? Or is that part of your business in the city?” he asked after he’d picked a rabbit leg clean of meat.

“We will go faster with four of us carrying the archer than three I think,” said Zevran as he tossed a handful of rabbit bones into the fire. “I spied two good strong saplings a little way down that path,” he gestured with a bone back towards the way he had come. “Bedrolls and cloaks will make for a suitable bed for him whilst we bear him back. Maybe not quite the fine carriages he has been accustomed to in the past, but they will suffice.”

“Sounds like a plan, better than sitting around in the damned forest for four more hours until he awakens.” Invictus stood up and brushed himself off. “Mind going with Zevran to get those trees? Your sword can do that more quickly and better than using my powers.”

Fenris arched an eyebrow at Vic but didn’t argue. “My weapon is not a hatchet, you’re sharpening it when we get home Invictus. But I can hack them down quickly, I’ll give you that.” the elf nodded to Varric and his lover then to Zevran to lead the way.

“I have something better than your sword for this work,” said Zevran calmly as he led the way. He reached into another pouch and started pulling out what looked like a length of barbed chain. He gestured over towards a pair of tall straight saplings a few feet back from the path.

“Here, take this,” he suggested, holding out the end of the chain. As the elf took it and stared at it, he saw it was indeed a chain, with each alternate link set with blades. The end of the chain had a hole; Zevran produced a metal rod which he handed to Fenris before inserting another in the corresponding loop at the other end of the chain. “A saw. Much more practical, yes?”

“I guess so.” Fenris said as he took the rod and followed Zevran to the sapling in question. “How does this work?” 

“Much as a usual saw but far more portable,” replied Zevran. “Though it is not normally saplings I have used it upon in the past.” He grinned with a flash of teeth. “Pull it taut between us and set the chain against the trunk - yes, like so. Now, upon my count, we pull to you, then to me. Ready?”

He counted, and they set to work. It took Fenris a couple of goes to get the hang of the rhythm, but very shortly they had sawn through the first sapling, the chain biting through the green wood swiftly. Soon both saplings lay in the grass and Zevran was coiling up the chain saw once more.

“So, you are the strong silent one, Fenris?” remarked Zevran in Tevinter.

Fenris quirked an eyebrow at the elf in surprise. “How do you know my mother language, you are an Antivan correct?” he replied in Tevinter without thinking.

“I was a Crow, Fenris. Do you honestly think Antivan and Trade are the only tongues I know?”

The elf shrugged as they went. “I know nothing of your trade, and the Crows only by reputation. It is strange to hear my tongue outside of Tevinter’s borders, it is considered...refined by some but difficult to master by many.” 

“I had mastered seven tongues before I had passed my thirteenth year,” said Zevran easily. “It is not so hard if you learn whilst young, they say.”

“I see…” Fenris hedged as they walked on. The silence got to him and he finally spoke, again in his native language. “Why do you ask about my silence, does it bother you? It was Invictus you had business with, not I.” 

Zevran laughed, his voice low and melodic. “Ah, then does my silence now bother you?” he asked, low and husky.

“It...sometimes I do not like silence. You usually speak so much, it surprised me when you fell quiet. Apologies if I have offended you ser Crow.” Fenris responded in Trade as they dragged the saplings behind them, and increased their travel time back to the camp. 

“Talk can come easily,” said Zevran as he glanced into the forest. “People grow used to one who chatters. His words mean little, they heed them less. It is the ones who do not talk that you should pay heed to, Fenris; they are the ones with secrets.” He glanced back at the other elf with a knowing look. “Secrets are a Crow’s lifeblood... and sometimes, the difference between life and death. All Crows learn when to speak, and when it is better to keep silent.”

He turned his attention back to the path.

“I take it you wish to pry my secrets from me, or better yet you will tell me as if I don’t know them? My old master would wax poetic on the efficiency of your order. The brutal, and elegant ways in which magisters used your number to get things done when magic and the game would not suffice.” Fenris said before he stumbled over a rabbit hole and swore as he regained his footing. “Venhedis, I don’t need to break my leg on top of everything else that’s gone wrong.”

“I am familiar with the brutality of your magisters,” said Zevran. “Watch your step. The path is uneven here.”

“So I’ve found.” Fenris replied dryly. They went further before he spoke again. “Dare I ask what you have seen in Tevinter?”

Zevran stared ahead. “We both know what lies in Tevinter, Fenris. I know how slaves are treated in the Imperium. I sometime think perhaps the magisters and the Crows must once have exchanged -” He broke off. “Let us say I have experienced a magister’s ire and it was... very familiar. He did not know I was a Crow of course.” He smiled at Fenris suddenly. “They never do until it is too late.”

“Then you have my thanks for ridding that place of a viper.” Fenris nodded his head slightly and smirked at his companion. “Did you learn the art of deflection during your training as well? You ignored my remark about secrets entirely.” 

“Did I?” said Zevran innocently. “You would make a very poor Crow my friend; you will not uncover other’s secrets by hammering about so boldly.” He darted a sidewise smile and looked the elf up and down. “I am sure you could find other ways of persuading me however. You’re a resourceful fellow, no?”

Fenris laughed in spite of himself. “You really are as lecherous as Isabela had told us. I suppose you wish more than a kiss in exchange for information? If it would help Invictus, I’d ...I’d do anything for him. And yes, I am aware I just gave away something vital to an assassin, when it comes to Invictus, I would do anything for him even if meant laying my life in the hands of one such as you. For all I know you have already poisoned us and we’ll drop dead en route to town. But you have some honor about you, I think.” 

“What would I achieve by poisoning you all? You have nothing worth taking and I cannot carry your archer back to his Chantry alone. If I wanted you all dead then, my dear Fenris -” He dropped his sapling and stepped close to the other elf and threaded his hands into the soft white hair as he stared into the emerald-green eyes that widened as he pressed himself closer. “-You would already be dead.” He kissed Fenris - hard at first, all teeth and tongue and firm insistence then soft and gentle with a faint, quiet moan as he slipped a hand around Fenris’ waist and pressed himself against the taller elf. He pulled away slowly.

“The kiss was for free,” he said quietly, panting slightly. “You will have to earn anything more however.” He grinned and bent to pick up the sapling once more.

Fenris didn’t move, he was frozen to the spot and he touched his lips in a daze. Vic kissed him often, but not like that. He blinked and found he was alone and staring off into space when he turned to respond to the other elf. If not for the fact he could follow the trail left by the sapling he would have been lost for the remainder of the trip back to camp. He’d let Invictus have Arden, but would Vic do the same if he asked for more from Zev?

The blond elf was sitting cross-legged, stripping off what few branches remained on the sapling with a knife when Fenris finally stumbled into camp. He was quietly humming to himself unconcerned as he trimmed the sapling into a pole then brushed leaves and splinters of green wood off before rising. “Ah, I thought you had perhaps fallen down a rabbit hole Fenris,” he remarked as he took the other sapling and began trimming it.

“No, I watched where I was going. Here’s your sapling.” Fenris said distractedly as he passed by and dropped to the ground next to Invictus. He was still a bit surprised by the fact the other elf had just kissed him and he hadn’t reached for Zevran’s heart. He loved Vic, he knew that but he had to admit that Zevran’s touch had gone straight to his cock.

“The day will be warm,” remarked Zevran as he stripped off his jerkin and shirt. He slid the saplings into the arms of his jerkin, then did the same with the shirt. He laid his cloak between the two garments then laid a couple of bedrolls over the cloak, fashioning a stretcher.

“Let us lay our sleeping archer upon his new bed - easy now. He will sleep a while yet but he is still badly injured. Let us spare him further harm, yes?”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed at the other elf even as he rose, drawn to the sun bronzed skin, his tattoos and well defined body. “Menace, you’re a damned menace.” he hissed in Tevinter when he passed Zevran to gather Sebastian’s bow and quiver so he could tie them to the stretcher. He knew the rogue would never forgive them if it was left behind.

“You forgot ‘devilishly handsome’,” replied Zevran easily as he bent over to douse the fire. It was surely coincidence that he happened to be giving Fenris a perfect view of the contours of his rear as he did so - or that he stretched as he stood, arching his back almost impossibly over afterwards.

“Fucking showoff” he muttered low enough that he hoped the other elf didn’t hear him. He ignored the looks Invictus was giving him. His lover looked...smug if he didn’t know better.

“Love you ok? You look a bit flushed.” Vic asked and failed to keep a smirk off his face.

“It is growing very warm already; perhaps Fenris is too hot under all that leather?” The smile the blond elf gave was perfectly innocent as he glanced at the white-haired elf. “It was sweaty work cutting and hauling those saplings after all.” He uncorked his water canteen and tipped cold water over his upturned face and bare chest.

“I hate you so much.” Fenris muttered darkly as he picked up the handles near Sebastian’s head and glared at his lover. “Not one damned word Invictus Hawke, not here.” Fenris growled even as he fought to keep his expression neutral.

Vic just smiled as he took up the other end of the stretcher and followed behind Varric and Zevran, his expression joyful as he went. It wasn’t often he could get one up on his lover and he planned to make sure Fenris got his due for allowing him to play with Arden. 

Zevran slung his satchel onto his shoulder and swung into step beside Invictus, his hips swaying a little as he walked, the dwarf heading up point.

Vic arched an eyebrow at the way Zevran was walking, unsure if his display was for his benefit or Fenris’. Vic tried not to laugh at the consistent grumbling he could hear behind him as they walked. If he concentrated he could make out some of the things Fenris was saying in Tevinter, but he stopped unsure if he wanted to know what kinds of things his lover was swearing to do to Zevran if he didn’t stop tempting him like he was.

“Hawke, I do believe what your lover just suggested to me is technically impossible though I would love to prove him wrong,” Zevran murmured as he strode along. “Tell me, is he actually capable of following through on any of the things he’s threatening?”

Invictus laughed low and dark as he adjusted his stride to match Zevran’s and not overbalance the sleeping prince. “Oh I’m sure he could, he is very resourceful you know. I admit you are the first person he’s reacted to like this since we got together. I didn’t think he could be flustered so easily; your reputation is well earned serah.” 

Fenris growled as they walked, he’d only heard bits of their conversation but it was enough to make him want to jump Zevran and drag him off to the bushes. He wondered if the Antivan had given him a hint of Orichalcum in his food somehow or slipped into their kiss without him noticing. No one usually roused this kind of fire in him except Invictus.

“When last we... met, I asked if you wished to get better acquainted. Fenris was quite possessive of you, and I am quite possessive of my heart remaining where it is so I did not pursue. Perhaps he would not be quite so... reluctant now?” Zevran glanced to the side as he spoke.

“Probably not, much has transpired since you last were here. Perhaps once we have rested at the estate we can fill you in? Assuming Fenris does not go and drag you off to the spare bed as soon as we are in the door. He’s behaving...strangely. What did you do to him?” Vic whispered as they walked, and he nearly sagged in relief once he could see the entry to the city coming up.

“Ah, Hawke, you should know better than to ask a Crow his secrets,” Zevran smiled mischieviously. “There are ways and means you might elicit them, but you would have to have me bound, helpless and at your mercy first. Now, how likely is that do you think?” He winked at the mage before sashaying forward to speak to Varric. After a moment the dwarf nodded as Zevran drew his knives. With a last wink over his shoulder, the elf spun his knives in his hands then darted off ahead.

“You have considerate friends, Hawke,” remarked Varric as he dropped back to join them. “Unless your friend there has an ulterior motive for offering to take point that I ought to know of?”

“Not really, but he’s a Crow, there’s always a motive. Hopefully it won’t be one that means us dying. I can see the gates, lets put a little more speed in our step, I’d like to get home, get cleaned up and get Sebastian back to the Chantry for healing before dinner.”

Invictus’ words were punctuated by a pained groan from the archer as he stirred briefly.

They took Sebastian directly to the Chantry; as Zevran had surmised, the archer was in significant pain and wide awake long before they reached the large familiar building, and it was with relief that Invictus watched as the Chantry healers bore the archer away, confident his friend would now get the healing he couldn’t provide.

Zevran pulled on his shirt and slung his jerkin over his shoulder. “Hawke, I provided you with breakfast - might a friend prevail upon you for dinner in return?” asked the elf. “I have yet to arrange food and lodgings in your fine city.”

“Of course, you can even get a hot bath and soft bed if you wish it. I still owe you for the last time. Besides, I’m sure Fenris would like having another elf around.” Invictus flinched at the smack his lover gave him on the behind.

“Yes, company would be nice. Varric are you joining us for dinner?” Fenris said with a smile that was far too wide to be charming. 

“Afraid not, Broody,” said Varric. “I have matters waiting my attention back at the Hanged Man, and inquiries to make about a certain mirror.” He nodded to Hawke. “Some other time maybe.” He nodded a farewell to Zevran who inclined his head politely, then headed off back towards Lowtown.

“Another time then.” Fenris nodded toward the dwarf’s back and schooled his face into something resembling his usual expression before he turned to his lover and guest. “Let’s get home, I would kill for a hot bath and Bohdan’s cooking right now.”

Zevran gave an almost orgiastic groan that stirred every hair up Fenris’ spine. “A bath sounds sheer heaven,” he agreed. “Let us not tarry.”

Fenris spit out something that sounded harsh and brutal when he said it so quickly, but it was an oath to make Zevran repeat that sound more than once over the night once they’d had food.

Zevran said nothing, merely smiling faintly.

Invictus glanced at his lover, sure he’d just vowed to do something horrific to their guest if he had to judge by tone. He started to speak but was brushed aside by the Tevinter elf. 

“It is nothing, I am just in a foul mood because I am tired, overly warm and hungry. Let us get home quickly Vic.” 

“As you say love. Come along, I’m sure Bohdan will be happy to see you again Zevran.” Vic chatted with the former Crow all the way home. Zevran bantered easily with the mage, his conversation light and charming yet somehow giving nothing of himself away, even as his eyes slid briefly toward the other elf.

As they reached the house, Zevran politely requested leave to take a bath before the meal.

“Of course, Fenris can show you where it is. I’m not as filthy so you two can go ahead.” Invictus smiled, his eyes sparked with mischief as he urged Fenris to lead the other elf to the upper level.

Fenris’ eyes widened and he stared at Invictus like he’d grown a second head. He didn’t get a chance to protest when he was pushed towards the stairs and told to have fun in a low whisper.

Zevran followed, his face quite neutral, trailing one hand up the wooden balustrade as they rose. Once inside the bath chamber he carefully placed his satchel in a corner, dropping his jerkin on top, the shirt following. He pulled his boots off as Fenris began to fill the tub.

“Do you wish to go first?” asked the blond elf politely. “The tub is large enough to share... it would be a pity to waste water, no?” His golden eyes had darkened and he watched the white-haired elf from behind lowered white-gold eyelashes.

Fenris took a deep breath and tried to speak but no words came out when he opened his mouth. He swallowed and tried again. “Waste… no, wouldn’t want to do that would we?” he said as he watched Zevran disrobe.

“What have you done to me? To spark such heat in me, are you a demon?” he wondered from his place near the door.

Zevran turned his back and stripped off his pants. “Nothing that you yourself did not desire,” he said simply as he stepped into the tub. As he sank down into the steaming water he cried out, his voice lowering into a long, low, drawn out moan of utter pleasure as he let his head drop back, eyes half-lidded, mouth open in sensual pleasure.

Fenris’ nostrils flared at the noise that came from Zevran, and his hands went to his tunic to pull it off. “That noise is obscene.”

“So is the thought that you would stand there watching when you could be in here partaking,” said Zevran quietly as he bent down on all fours in the tub. “The size of this bath is obscene. We should use it more efficiently I think if you were in here with me.” He tossed steam-damp hair over his shoulder and gave Fenris a smouldering look. “I am sure you can think of ways to silence me if my voice is bothering you,” he purred.

The Tevinter elf growled as he stripped and came over to the bath and stepped in so he was facing Zevran, the other elf inches from him and eye level with his cock. “I’ve been thinking of ways to silence that damn obscene, silken voice for the last several hours.” he said in Tevinter.

“Ah, that is where you are going wrong then my friend,” said Zevran with a smile. “You should be doing more and thinking less, perhaps?”

“You’re right. Open up.” Fenris wound his fingers in the other elf’s hair and wrapped one of his braids around his fist so he could tug and direct his elven playmate.

Zevran groaned at the feel of his hair being pulled tight and willingly parted his lips as Fenris thrust himself firmly inside.

Fenris held in the groan that would have carried downstairs as he filled the other elf’s mouth. He was quieter than usual as he pumped in and out of Zevran, his eyes closing so he wouldn’t drive himself to orgasm too quickly.

Zevran pressed the length of his tongue against the underside of Fenris’ shaft and slowly undulated it before swirling it around the glans then swallowing Fenris deep inside, working the other elf’s member with firm, smooth strokes and the definite touch of long experience and expertise. He slipped a hand up to cup Fenris’ balls firmly before slipping a slender finger into Fenris’ passage and stroking him in his most sensitive place, humming as he felt Fenris twitch and shiver.

The taller elf yelped at the feel of the Antivan’s finger into him. “Ahh, not yet, not so soon.” Fenris moaned even as he pulled away from Zevran’s mouth with a lewd, wet sound. “Damn, oil is in the spare room.” he snapped.

“Wait,” murmured Zevran as he slipped out of the water and rummaged in his satchel before returning with a small vial which he held out to the other elf before stepping back into the water.

“Well you do need to be prepared for all situations.” Fenris muttered. He looked at Zevran curiously, his lust abated for a moment. “Do you wish to ...be taken or take me?” he said quietly, unsure which the assassin preferred.

Zevran stroked his thigh as he stared up into the uncertain green eyes. “You are happier when in control, I think,” he replied. “Me, it is all the same.” He turned around and leaned over the side of the tub, spreading his legs in the hot water.

“At times, yes.” Fenris admitted as he uncorked the vial and tapped Zevran’s backside. “Dry off and let me get behind you. I’d rather not risk breaking our necks in the tub.”

“As you wish,” replied the Antivan with a shrug. He stepped out and reached for a towel, drying himself. He glanced around and noticed a tall stool in a corner. Fetching it, he bent over, his firm hard stomach against the seat as he spread his legs. “How is this?” he inquired.

“Better, I just don’t like the idea of hurting one of us for the sake of pleasure. At least not like that.” Fenris stood and ran his hands over the other elf’s ass and legs. “I haven’t been with another elf in many years.” he spoke quietly as he slipped two fingers into Zevran and stroked slowly.

Zevran groaned, rocking his hips back onto Fenris’ hand. “We are both free men, Fenris; why should we not take our pleasure with one another?” He glanced back over his shoulder as he spoke, his voice low and husky. “Deeper.... please....”

“As you wish.” Fenris added a third finger and thrust harder, and faster until Zevran was writhing for him. “Say it, say you want me.”

Zevran was panting as he rutted back onto Fenris’ hand. “Harder,” he begged. “Give me more.” He gasped as Fenris thrust harder and moaned approval.

“More… what?” Fenris asked as he dripped a bit more oil on his hand and added a fourth finger and increased his pace. 

Zevran laughed breathlessly then moaned, low and needy. “More.... _ser_.”

It was Fenris’ turn to laugh...“Not exactly what I … wanted but that’s good to hear as well.” Fenris rasped as he pulled his fingers free just long enough to oil himself and rinse them in the tub. He entered Zevran hard, in one stroke and reached up so he could wrap his hands in the other elf’s hair. “Talk to me, your voice...does things to me.”

“Oh Creators, yesss....” groaned Zevran. “Fill me, I want you deeper, harder, until I can’t think straight. Pull harder...” He groaned as the other elf obliged. “Mark me, I want to count the bruises from your teeth and hands afterwards,” he begged. He ground his hips back into Fenris’ groin, meeting every thrust with a backwards jerk of his hips, driving Fenris’ cock deeper with each pump.

Fenris tugged so his partner’s back arched up and soon Zevran was flush against him, his teeth were sunk into the other elf’s neck and his hands were busy scratching and pulling anywhere he could reach. He was going for hard and fast, he was in no mood to draw things out. 

He stopped marking Zevran’s neck only to direct him to come for him. “You tempted me all ...fucking...day. Give up, give it to me.” Fenris rasped in his ear before he latched onto the Antivan’s neck again and slammed into the other elf hard enough to sound as if he were slapping him, not fucking him.

Zevran took himself in hand and began to pump into his own fist even as he canted his hips so that Fenris’ strokes grazed his sweet spot with every thrust and began to pant small, pained cries as he brought himself closer. “Harder,” he begged even as his legs trembled.

Fenris switched to biting the other elf's ears and obliged his request, though he had the fleeting thought he might hurt himself if he went much harder for long. “Come on...let go.” he hissed as he bit down on the tip of Zevran’s ear after a viciously hard stroke into the other elf.

Zevran’s eyes screwed shut and he cried out, low and guttural as his hips stuttered, spilling his seed over his hand and the floor as his body spasmed, closing tight around Fenris’ cock.

Fenris gasped as he felt his orgasm hit him after Zevran came hard for him. Unfortunately, his back muscles spasmed as soon as he pulled away from the other elf. “Fuck… oh fuck. Worst time for this to happen.” he held onto the side of the tub so he didn’t slide down and make it worse. “Get ...Vic. Fuck…”

Zevran stood up and turned, his breathing returning to normal almost immediately as he leaned over the stricken elf. He ran warm, practiced hands over Fenris’ back, his sensitive fingers unerringly finding the tightly spasmed muscles before digging in ruthlessly. Silently Zevran worked over Fenris’ back with a deft, sure touch that spoke of years of experience. “Take a deep breath,” he said quietly.

Fenris nodded and did as he was asked, but he still felt twinges of pain. “That last harder…Maker, Vic is going to laugh about this for years.”

Leaving Fenris leaning over the tub for the moment, Zevran fetched another bucket of hot water to top up the tub. “Come, the hot water will soothe it. Gentle now, yes?” He stepped into the tub and helped Fenris in, settling himself against the back of the tub then letting Fenris rest against him as he began to gently wash them both. “Do not try to do anything; let me be the one to do this time, hmm?”

“Alright...fuck, fuck...ow” the elven warrior hated when things like this happened. Proof he wasn’t as invulnerable as he’d like to think he was.

Zevran gently washed Fenris’ snow-white locks before washing his own hair, before settling back in the tub with his long arms wrapped loosely around Fenris. “I am sorry it ended in pain for you,” he said quietly. “But thank you for a most enjoyable diversion. I do enjoy a partner who does not hold back.”

“It’s alright, it’s not like this is a usual thing for me. I will have to ask Vic why he pushed me to do this however. He’ll want details probably, well if he didn’t hear us he will.” Fenris cautiously stretched and made his own indecent noise when his back didn’t spasm again. “Thank you for that, the last time I got a spasm like that I was laid out for two days. You’ll have to tell Invictus what to do should it happen again.” 

“Just a matter of knowing the right places to press and how to do it, anyone can learn,” said Zevran offhand. “So. I think you have earned perhaps a few answers, yes? Three questions you may ask.”

“As if I can string together a coherent thought right now. Can I ask after dinner?” Fenris said, his eyes closed and body relaxed against the other elf.

“But of course,” said Zevran quietly, gently pressing a light kiss to Fenris’ temple.

“Thanks. Maker if we don't’ move, I’m going to sleep right here.” the elf murmured tiredly.

“Then let us move by all means.” Zevran rose smoothly to his feet in one move, pulling the other elf up with him and bracing Fenris against him with one hand as he reached for a towel with the other. He helped Fenris out of the tub, wrapping the towel around him, then stepped out after, moving past Fenris to snag another towel for himself.

The taller elf dried off and dressed quickly, though he stole glances at Zevran as the other elf dressed and covered up his golden skin, and dark tattoos. “Almost a shame to see you dress.” he said wistfully before he threw their used towels in a basket and led the way downstairs.

“I think it would be rather distracting if I were to go to dinner naked,” Zevran chuckled. “I might scandalise your good manservant.”

“If Bodhan traveled with you and the Hero of Ferelden during the Blight year, I’m sure a bit of nudity wouldn’t shock him. Come, I’ve worked up an appetite.” Fenris said with a hint of shyness as they descended the stairs.

“Ah, but we never had dinner naked. Hmm, perhaps I should have suggested it. It would have made for some fascinating after-dinner conversation I am sure. Though perhaps a camp fire is not a good place to go unclothed, hmm?” He gave Invictus a warm smile as they entered the kitchen.

“I don’t even want to know why you were talking about dining nude. Come, Bohdan has made your favorites Zevran and he insists on seeing you before you leave town.” Vic smiled at his lover and merely leaned in to kiss him on the cheek and whisper something filthy in Fenris’ ear.

Zevran executed an elegant and sweeping bow to the dwarven seneschal. “Bodhan, you have no idea how much I have missed your cooking!”

“I can only guess, especially once you all made Alistair leave it to me.” the elder dwarf returned Zevran’s bow and urged him to sit and partake of the meal he’d whipped up for his old friend. Zevran cast his eyes over the spread and groaned in delight. 

“I fear after this sumptuous repast I will be fit for nothing but rolling around in sheer delight; I am quite certain I will be incapable of walking. Bodhan’s cooking will finish what you started perhaps, eh?” He gave Fenris a wink as he began to eat.

The elf nearly choked on his food at the other elf’s lasciviousness. “I’m sure you’ll rest well after all the excitement today… it was rather exhausting.” Fenris winked in return and went back to his plate as if he hadn’t eaten in days not hours.

Zevran was his usual sparkling, witty self as he polished off every plate that was set before him, washing it down with glasses of Antivan white. He was charming, friendly, and as ever gave absolutely nothing of himself away and yet in a short time Fenris realised they had between them told him absolutely every single thing that had happened since Invictus’ first impromptu visit to Arden’s Kirkwall.

“So now you seek this mirror in hopes you can retrieve your wayward mage?” he remarked as he sat back and regarded Invictus thoughtfully.

“Yes, as much as I hate to admit it we need him. I’m a piss poor replacement. I’d rather not have someone die on my watch. So, yes… that’s the hope.” Vic tilted his glass in salute to the Antivan elf before he leaned back and looked over his guest.

“What is it you wish in return? Other than the fun you’ve already had with Fenris.” 

The elven fighter turned his gaze on his lover as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. “I’m not a bargaining chip Invictus.”

Zevran’s eyes turned sharp and hard. “Fenris is his own man; a free man, as am I. If you would bargain for my help you must use another coin; what Fenris has bought is for him alone.” He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. “What assistance is it that you would seek to buy from me, Invictus Hawke, that friendship alone might not suffice?”

Vic looked stricken at his poor choice of words. “I didn’t mean it like that, Fenris...love I know you are not a bargaining chip. Forgive me, please.”

“Perhaps after I have availed myself of our friend’s skills a few more times tonight. For now you are on your own. Be careful Serah Hawke, for not all coin carries the same weight.” Fenris gave a half bow to the Antivan and whispered in his ear that he’d be waiting in the guest room for him.

“I...I am sorry.” Vic said quietly before he turned to Zevran. “Now that I’ve managed to hurt my lover and make an ass of myself, name your price and I will pay it if I can.”

Zevran leaned back and smiled predatorily, his golden eyes glittering. “What is it worth to you, and how may I be of service?”

“It’s worth a lot, and you can be of service ...by checking discreetly about the Eluvian in the Black Emporium. And perhaps with the Dalish, if that’s even an option.” Vic said tiredly. He got up and poured them both two fingers of whiskey and slid one over to Zevran. “What’s your price?”

Zevran sipped slowly, eyeing Invictus over the rim of the glass, his eyes the same shade of gold as the spirits.

“Three favours. Two for myself, the third to be named at some later time.”

“As long as its my power to do so, consider it done. What do you wish?” Vic knew he had no more room to bargain with the former Crow, so he gave in easily.

“Carte blanche to act as I see fit within the city, with no interference from you regardless of what you may hear of my actions. And,” he added leaning forward with an intense look in his eyes as his demeanor turned to chill anger, “Your assistance in retrieving a certain captain of both our acquaintance from the Qunari once our business in Kirkwall is concluded.”

Vic blanched at the second favor that was requested of him but nodded his agreement. “She’ll kill me you know.” He said softly then knocked back his drink. “The first is no problem, I don’t own this city and it chafes Meredith’s hide that a mage, a dirty apostate has such influence anyway.” 

Zevran’s smile was thin lipped and humourless, not reaching his eyes. “Consider yourself fortunate you yet breathe, my _friend_ ; when I heard you had turned her over, I might have slit your throat myself except I would not deny Isabela the joy when finally she stands before you a free woman.” He knocked back his own whiskey in one swallow and set down the glass.

“Understood. Just ...take care of Fenris afterward would you?” Invictus said quietly as he stared at the fireplace and not his guest.

“You think I have no honour?” said Zevran as he rose to his feet. “Do not speak to me of duty, Hawke. You should have considered that yourself before you began this path and turned your back on those you considered friends once. The shoe fits ill when it is upon the other foot, no?”

He turned and headed towards the stairs in silence.

Invictus didn’t speak, he knew he had no right to. Instead he poured himself another drink and sat in front of the fire to think on the limited time he had left.

Zevran made his way to the guest room. He paused in the doorway, leaning against the door frame for a moment as he stared at Fenris, simply drinking in the sight of him for a few minutes until the white-haired elf glanced up, suddenly aware of his scrutiny.

“I asked for three favours in payment,” said Zevran quietly. One for myself, one for Isabela. The third is for you, my friend, though Invictus is not yet aware of it.” He strode over to the bed and dropped himself upon it with a sigh. “You will know what to ask for when that moment comes, I think,” he said softly. “Whatever you ask in that moment, it will be granted.” He closed his eyes.

Fenris sat up and glared at the other elf. “One for Isabela and one for me. What do you mean?” 

“I told Hawke I required carte blanche in the city; he agreed. I then requested his assistance to free Isabela. He also agreed. I told him there would be a third favour. I did not tell him that I am granting it to you.”

The Tevinter elf snarled as he jumped up from the chair and got in Zevran’s face. “So you consign my lover to write his own death warrant and brag to me of it? How is that a favor?”

Zevran opened his eyes and regarded Fenris with a weary expression. “He knows Isabela will likely try to kill him. He asked me to look after you. I am giving you the means to take care of yourself at that point. I can only hope you will understand what I am giving you when that time comes. And I trust you to ask wisely and well.”

Fenris didn’t have words for what he felt in that moment. Betrayed, used, furious came to mind. Instead of letting Zevran see how his news had hurt him, he left the room and slammed the door hard enough to rattle it. He wanted another bath, to wipe the feel of the other elf from his skin and then he would go to his lover for a talk.

Zevran groaned, rolling over and burying his face into the pillows. “You do not understand, _carissimi_ ,” he murmured. “I knew you would not. I only pray you will understand in time.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mirror, a long talk and balance.

Arden started awake, not entirely certain what it was that had awoken him. He glanced around.

Anders was still snoring softly in his chair, curled up in a way that Arden was certain would mean the apostate waking up complaining of a stiff neck. 

Arden glanced over towards the bed. The other Anders had stirred slightly; as Arden rose from his chair, he saw one hand grasp briefly at the covers as the sleeping apostate frowned.

“Anders?” he asked softly as he approached the bed.

The other Anders groaned as he opened his eyes and stared at the canopy overhead then at the blond mage that could have been his sibling. “What happened?’

“As far as I can tell, Justice and Justice decided to have a big fight. And... well. I guess the version of Justice in our Anders got the jump on your Justice and... absorbed it, as far as we can tell. And brought down half the room about your ears in doing so.” Arden lifted one knee to kneel on the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“Like a High Dragon used me for a chew toy. What do you mean absorbed my Justice?” Anders tried to sit up and gave up when his vision doubled briefly and his stomach lurched with the attempt at moving.

Arden leaned forward, gently pressing the apostate back against the pillows. “Don’t try to move just yet, you were very badly injured. By rights you should have died; it took both Anders and I working together to bring you back. You’ll still have some after-effects of concussion going on, and there’s still a lot of bruising - there was internal damage and although we healed the worst of it, you’ll still be pretty sore for a couple of days.” He sighed. “And I mean, that’s exactly what it looked like. One Justice just seemed to swallow up the other until there’s just... Justice left. And you. I think we’ve perhaps found the one way to reverse possession without actually killing the host, but....” He shook his head in some disbelief. “I saw it happen, but I couldn’t begin to explain what I truly saw or how it was possible.”

“He’s...gone?” Anders whispered in horror. “I’m alone...Maker, I’m truly alone.” he said before he rolled to his side and tugged the covers over his head and tried to ignore the truth of Arden’s words.

“I’m so sorry,” breathed Arden. Staring down at the stricken mage he did the only thing he could think of; he gently gathered Anders into his arms and held him close, wrapping his arms around him as he buried his face in the dark gold hair. “You’re not alone,” he said softly. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“You’re not Justice, you’re not there on cold, lonely nights. You’ve got your Anders and your damned Fenris. I’ve got nothing now… nothing.” Anders wailed and tried to pull out of Hawke’s embrace. “Leave me alone Champion… leave me alone.” he sobbed.

“It’s my fault you’re here,” said Arden softly, his own face wet with tears. “You would never have followed if I...” He groaned. “I care about you, Anders. In all the worlds, I think I would always care for you. You’re here because of me, and though you may not understand, I do care. I wish I could undo what’s been done to you... everything you’ve been through. I can’t though, I don’t know how - but I do care Anders. And you’ve got me. And I’ve got you, and I’m going to try and fix things somehow.” He refused to be pushed away, cradling Anders’ face in his hands. “Please, please just... let me try and fix this. Somehow.”

“How? You can’t fix it Arden Hawke. You can’t fix this, go away. Get away from me, you stole my one friend from me and now you want to fix it. YOU CAN’T!” Anders bellowed at him and pulled back even though the effort made him wince and curl up on himself.

Arden sat back, his stricken look almost mirroring the apostate’s. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. Rising to his feet, he stumbled away, suddenly blinded by tears as he fled from the room.

He somehow managed to make it down the stairs without falling, heading straight for the front door. It was only when he found himself standing in the garden drawing deep, ragged breaths that he realised where he was and that it was night. High overhead, the stars twinkled in the cold night sky.

“Why can’t I fix this?” he asked bewildered. “If I’m the damned Champion, why can I not fix this one thing?” He fell to his knees in the dew-drenched grass and clenched his fists as he stared at the silent, lonely sky.

Fenris had been in the dining room, his mind elsewhere as he waited for someone to come down; it was well after the usual hour for dinner. He saw Arden stumble by and rose to follow him. He hung back, hesitant for a moment, and then made his way to Arden’s side and dropped to his knees, holding his lover close to comfort him.

“You’re not the Maker Arden, you can’t fix everything. I take it he’s awake and not happy that his other half is gone?” the elf said quietly as he wiped the other man’s tears away.

“I did this to him, Fenris; I walked into his life, showed him what his life could have been - and he followed me here, hoping for something better. And then he has ripped from him the one being that has been his only source of comfort and companionship for Maker knows how many years.” 

He shook his head. “It must be worse than having your lover ripped from your side....like having part of yourself ripped away. Half-way to Tranquil almost. To have the Fade there constantly, like a shining presence always - and then one day it’s gone unless you open yourself up to the magic or dreams.” He shook his head. “I can only barely dimly comprehend what he must feel, and even that much terrifies me. How can one live as a mortal man after that? And yet that’s what he must do now. And I can’t help him, Fenris, even though it’s my fault it happened.” He clung to his elven lover, gasping the words out through sobs.

Fenris turned him so Arden could face him as he spoke. “Arden Hawke you did no such fucking thing. He followed you for an ideal. You had no idea that Justice would not appreciate another Justice or be able to understand how there were two of him in one place.”

The elf cradled Arden’s face in his hands and gazed at him with an intensity he usually reserved for the battle field. “He was the fool that followed you in hopes of a better life, that was not your doing. He should not have latched on to you as some oasis in the sea of bitterness that was his life in his world. Do not take this burden on you, it is not your fault beloved.”

Arden slumped in Fenris’ arms. “I feel so helpless,” he murmured as he lifted one hand to scrub tiredly at his wet cheeks. “There has to be something I can do to help him but I just don’t know what. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Right now, you need to let him be - well, be somewhere else; I would like to sleep in our bed tonight. We should move him to the other guest room so he can sleep after some food. We can work on this in the morning. You need some sleep too, after you’ve had dinner.” the elf stood and pulled his lover to his feet as well. 

“How can you think of food at a time like this?” asked Arden distractedly as he ran a hand through his blond hair. “Eating is the last thing on my mind right now, and I’m not sure his body will be much up to handling much that’s solid right now.” He glanced up at the wall of the house and shook his head as he stared at the wooden scaffolding and canvas that shrouded the ruins of what had been Carver’s room from view. 

“Maker only knows what the neighbours must have made of that. I’m surprised we haven’t had Aveline show up to investigate reports of the disturbance.” He wandered over to the foot of the wall and toed a chunk of masonry that had been blown free of the wall. “Mother had always planned to redecorate that room. She never got around to it. I guess it’ll finally get done now.”

Arden was aware he had started to ramble, filling the quiet with a string of verbalised semi-coherent thought rather than address the very real, very urgent issue: how in the name of the Void they were going to get the other Anders back to Invictus’ Kirkwall, and what to do about Justice. If anything could be done about it, that was.

“Arden.” Fenris’ voice was low and patient; he arched an eyebrow at his lover and just shook his head. “I can think of food because I am hungry, even if you are not. Come in and stop brooding over this.” 

“I’m not brooding; who’s brooding?” asked Arden distractedly as he brushed plaster dust off a pale pink rose. “Brooding’s your department love - according to Varric, anyway.” He glanced back at Fenris. “I never did get that - you’re Broody, Anders is Blondie, Merrill is Daisy, Sebastian is Chantry Boy, Isabela is Rivaini. I never got a nickname.”

“Do you need one? You’re Hawke, the Champion. You’ve made and claimed your own. Now come in and stop wandering around talking to yourself in the garden. That will garner the neighbors attention more than the fact you have blown a chunk of the wall out.” Fenris held his hand out and waited patiently for Arden to come with him.

Arden placed his hand in Fenris’ warm rough palm and let himself be drawn back towards the house. “I never asked to be Champion,” he said quietly. “It’s just something that happened along the way as I was trying to protect the people I care about.” He sighed as they entered the foyer. “I don’t seem to be doing too well at that lately. Being Champion means having all the responsibility no-one else wants, and very little power to actually do even a quarter of it.”

“I know, perhaps we can just let them take care of themselves for a while? Or let us take care of you? It’s too much to have on your shoulders Arden. I fear for the day it is too much and you collapse.” Fenris squeezed his hand gently and tugged Arden into the house, his objective was food then sleep. The rest could wait.

Arden shook his head and straightened his shoulders. “No. I have too much I need to do. I can’t afford a day off, much though I crave one.” He headed towards the kitchen and glanced around, lost in thought.

“I didn’t mean right now love. Sit, I’ll make you tea.” Fenris was tired but he didn’t want to take it out on his lover. “Forgive me if I am short with you, I’m tired.”

“We’re all tired, love,” said Arden. He stared at his hands. “I’m afraid there will be war, and that I won’t be able to stop it, love. I have to try though.”

“Not alone you won’t.” Fenris replied as he made them both a strong cup of tea and made himself a sandwich before he joined Arden at the table. “I wonder if our Anders has woken up yet?”

Arden went still and cocked his head, listening. “I don’t know. I should go look,” he said, slowly pushing himself back to his feet.

“I’ll be up in a bit, I just want to finish this. “Take your tea with you Arden, it will help you sleep.” Fenris admonished his lover before he took a sip from his own mug.

Arden took his mug. “I thought... maybe we should move into Mother’s room, at least for tonight.” He regarded Fenris almost nervously.

The elf glared at him but didn’t push things, he knew what it cost to ask that. “If it is what you wish love. Tomorrow, he gets moved to another room, it’s not as if there’s not another guest room down here. I won’t...have you surrounded by painful memories if it can be helped.” 

“I don’t want to move him just yet - he’s not really well enough to be moved. And I’d rather sleep in a familiar room.” He stared down at his mug. “I should take a cup up to our Anders as well,” he realised. “And a sandwich or something - he put a lot of energy into healing him.” He moved over to the counter and put together a plate with bread, cheese, a link of cold sausage and an apple before pouring more tea then setting both mugs and the plate on a tray. He paused to press a gentle kiss on Fenris’ soft pale locks then gathered the tray up and headed upstairs. 

He balanced the tray on his left arm whilst he traced an arcane gesture over the door; there was the faint glow of magic as the ward dissipated, then he entered the room and glanced around.

It was cold and smelled faintly musty after having been shut up for several months. He gestured, and all the candles flickered into life; at another gesture, the wood stacked in the fireplace roared into blazing life as he set the tray down upon a small table which he set beside the bed.

He glanced around the room for a moment, then made his way back to his room. Pausing outside the door, he drew a deep breath then pushed it silently ajar, his glance going first to the bed.

Thankfully, the blond apostate had lapsed into unconsciousness again. Spared another confrontation he was too emotionally drained to deal with right now, he made his way over to the chair and gently shook Anders’ shoulder. “Love?” he called softly.

Anders’ eyes opened and he groaned silently as he sat up. “Yeah? What time is it?”

“Time we were all sleeping in an actual bed,” replied Arden quietly. “You should eat first. Fenris will be up in a moment. Come on, I brought you a mug of tea,” he added as he inclined his head toward the door.

“That sounds fantastic, thank you love.” Anders said as he levered himself out of the chair and took the mug. “Come on, let’s go so we don’t wake him up with our chatter.” The other blond mage took a sip and followed Arden out of their room with a sigh. “Where’s Fenris?”

“Downstairs in the kitchen. He’ll be up very shortly.” He led the way towards his mother’s room, barely hesitating as he crossed the threshold. He didn’t glance back at Anders as he picked up his own mug and headed over to stand before the fire. “It’s just cold stuff I’m afraid, but you ought to eat - you expended a lot of energy on healing.”

“I’m not complaining Arden, thank you for helping me. Come on, hopefully our grumpy warrior will not take too long to join us.” Anders said as he steered his other lover to the door and opened it, unsure if Arden could go in on his own. Anders sat at the small table and ignored the thin layer of dust as he formed a sandwich and dug into it, his usual habit of chattering to fill the silence stopped by eating.

Arden stared at the flames; it was easier to focus on the flickering flames that seemed so alive than glance around at the room that held so many memories of a dead past. The heat was comforting, as was the hot tea.

“Tomorrow I think I want to visit the Black Emporium if our guest is fit to be left for a few hours, after I speak to Merrill.”

“Do you want me to stay with him or go with you? I don’t know ...if you should go alone.” Anders muttered as he cleaned his plate. 

Fenris had entered the room just as their Anders spoke, and he gave both mages a wary look. “Go where?” 

Arden turned reluctantly away from the fire. “I need to find a way to send him home, before any further harm comes to him. If Merrill cannot help, then I’ll try the Black Emporium. I don’t know where else to try if those two options don’t pan out. Marethari is dead, and I don’t know where they might be now they have no Keeper, no reason to stay.” He crossed over to a small desk and pulled open a drawer, retrieving an amulet. “This... this would be my last resort.”

Fenris tilted his head and watched as firelight played over the trinket Arden held. “Do you think the Eluvian in the Emporium shattered as well when he came through? If it didn’t, perhaps it could serve us again?” 

“I remember shattering glass when VIc went back... but I don’t remember where it came from. I... I think I was more than halfway gone at that point. I remember Vic picking me up and then we fell somewhere... between?” He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of an uncertain memory, his hand lifting to card through the white streak of hair over his right eye unconsciously. “There was... I can’t describe it. Like a third place, a third Kirkwall maybe between here and there. Maybe that was what shattered when he took the gem. There was... another Hawke. I think he was dead?” 

Arden’s gave was abstract, focussing on his memories; he didn’t notice the look Anders and Fenris exchanged.

“I don’t remember much about what happened when Vic left. I just vaguely remember waking up on the floor of the Black Emporium with you kneeling over me, and knowing Vic was gone. I didn’t look at the mirror. Did you?”

“It was intact, and there was nothing strange about it before or after you returned to us. I just have no idea if the other Anders coming through affected it as well.” Fenris answered as he sat across from their Anders and pondered what this could mean.

Arden blinked. “Then if it’s intact here... it may be intact _there_ , in which case...!” He jerked upright, nearly spilling his tea. “If Vic thinks to go check his mirror - and we can get his Anders to the mirror in our world....” He turned and stared at the other two men, his amber eyes lighting up hopefully. “We may have a chance to send him back. If Vic is thinking along the same lines.” He frowned then. “Except we needed a gem to send him back, and I needed Sandal’s stone to take me back. I don’t know if the stone will work a second time, or even if I still have it - I don’t remember holding it when I came through. It may still be on his side. If Vic has it....” He groaned. “Too many ifs.”

“Well let’s worry about it after some sleep. Running ourselves ragged on little rest won’t make answers appear from thin air. “Come to bed love.” Anders said softly as he turned the bed down and beckoned them both to lay with him. Sex was not going to happen in that room, not that he would have wanted to do so even if Leandra still lived.

“Anders is right, and maybe we can figure out something once we’re rested. I know I could do with some sleep.” Fenris said as he crossed the room and crawled into bed with his mage.

Arden sighed then nodded. Slowly undressing, he folded his clothes and laid them on a chair before crawling into the bed between his two loves. With a tired wave of his hand, he extinguished all but a single candle and the glowing fire.

The pillow, the bed - it all still smelled of Leandra. Closing his eyes he buried his face in Fenris’ hair even as his hand reached and found Anders’ reassuring warm fingers. “Hold me,” he whispered.

“Of course.” Fenris whispered as he rolled over to cuddle with his lovers and comfort them. “I’m sorry.” he whispered, it was an old apology for him to give. He’d felt guilty about the fact they hadn’t saved Leandra in time. “Sleep well beloved.”

Held safe and warm between the two people he cared most about in the whole of Kirkwall, Arden drifted slowly off into sleep.

**

Arden woke in the early hour before the dawn. He lay still for a moment, listening to the soft sounds of breathing from his somnolent lovers to either side of him. Both Anders and Fenris were deeply asleep; Fenris upon his back, one arm flung across his face, the mage rolled away from Arden upon his stomach, face buried in the pillow he clutched, his faint snores muffled by eiderdown.

Sitting up, Arden allowed the ghostliest touch of magic to brush across his lovers’ minds, pushing them a little deeper into sleep so they would not stir as he extricated himself from between them and rose.

He had barely slept perhaps a couple of hours, but he was restless. Pulling his house-robe on, he drifted on silent feet into the hall and down to the door of his own room.

The other Anders was also asleep, passed out in an unconscious sprawl across the bed. Arden quietly checked on his breathing, colour and pulse. He seemed to be physically recovering about as well as was to be expected.

Anders felt another presence, another mage and his own power answered...and woke him. He was groggy and felt like he’d been punched by an ogre. “What...Arden? What happened?”

Arden snatched his hand away from the pulse at Anders’ throat and drew back. He briefly considered putting the other mage back under with a sleep spell; Anders was disoriented and it would only take the merest push with his magic to send him spiralling back into dreams. But he stayed his hand, merely turning away towards the armoire in the corner.

“You don’t remember?” he said quietly as he pulled a clean white linen shirt and soft grey leather pants out of the armoire and laid them over the back of a nearby chair.

“Maker I do, I just wished I didn’t.” Anders sat up and groaned. “I feel empty, like part of me is missing but not as devastated as I was earlier. Everything still fucking hurts though.” he muttered even as he sent pulses of healing magic through his head.

Arden pulled on the pants and shrugged off his house-robe; he glanced over his shoulder at the other mage then shook his head. “Let me,” he said quietly as he returned to the bedside. Dropping down onto the edge of the bed he laid a hand gently upon Anders’ forehead and sent soothing ripples of healing magic into his aching head. “You need to save your strength,” he admonished gently. “You should try to rest as much as possible.”

“I’m not an invalid and I don’t need to be coddled.” Anders snapped. While he was an amazing healer, he was a pitiful patient.

Arden’s lip curled into a half-smile as he shrugged and let his hand fall away. “As you will,” he said simply, pushing himself back to his feet and walking back over towards the armoire. He paused to stretch, the muscles in his back shifting as he arched his back before it gave a sharp crack. He grimaced briefly then reached for the shirt.

“I’m going to head to the Black Emporium in a little while,” he said without turning. “Fenris says the mirror there didn’t crack when Invictus went back through it. I was rather out of it at the time.” He tugged on the shirt, smoothing out the linen before trawling through the armoire for a long sleeveless robe in a dark blood-red twill. He fingered the fabric speculatively. “It may be our best chance of getting you back home, I think.”

“Then I’d like to go with you. I never thought I’d say this, but this isn’t for me. You have an Anders, they have a healer here. I’m not ...needed or wanted. If I can’t go home, then I may just set out to Ansburg and take my chances. I can’t stay here, it’s too painful.” Anders admitted with a sad tinge to his voice.

Arden nodded, his eyes sad, as he pulled out the blood-red robe and a black leather tunic. “My brother Carver is a Warden in this world. He’s... mellowed somewhat. Matured, I should say. If we can’t get you back home, I’ll get a message to him and see you get to Ansburg safely. It’s the least I can do,” he added as he buckled the tunic then pulled on the robe before turning.

“Anders... you may not be needed here in the way you are back in your own world, but... what I said last night still stands. I do care about you. If I didn’t then I-” He broke off and smiled ruefully. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Only that you know someone here does actually give a damn about you. Even if you _are_ a lousy patient who won’t rest when he should and complains when someone tries to heal him.” His smile took any sting out of his words as he gently chided the healer.

“Like Carver would give a damn about me, probably drop me off hogtied on Stroud’s desk and laugh it off over dinner.” Anders muttered as he stared at the bed canopy as if he wanted it to burn to ash in a fit of anger.

Arden tightened his belt with a savage jerk, a brief look of anger crossing his own face. “Invictus’ brother, perhaps. But not mine. You didn’t see him when we faced Corypheus; you didn’t see how he stood by our Anders.” His face softened slightly. “He was the one who thought to explain to me what the Calling meant. So Anders wouldn’t have to. Anders had been trying to find a way to break it to me for months. So Carver took me aside and told me quietly.” He dropped his gaze to the carpet for a moment. “He said he’d be proud to see Anders down to the Deep Roads himself when the time came. I told him that wouldn’t be necessary.” He glanced up again. “You can trust Carver - my Carver.”

He turned away and reached for his belt pouches. “If you set the bed on fire I may have to freeze it and you in it to put it out. I don’t think you’d like that.”

“As you say, I apologize for any offense I’ve given you Arden.” Anders said dully. He didn’t know what to think or do, so he fell back on his second tactic of giving up and accepting defeat rather than deflecting with humor. “If you can wait for a bit I’ll bathe and get ready to go with you.”

Arden nodded, silent. He straightened the drape of his robe and tucked a couple spare vials of lyrium in a pouch; after a moment’s thought, he added a third before crossing to a small bureau and retrieving an amulet from the drawer. Then he crossed to the window and stared out at the dawn as he waited for Anders to be ready. He briefly considered offering the other mage assistance when he heard him stumble a bit as he got out of bed, but then his expression hardened. No. Anders wasn’t a cripple. He wouldn’t thank him for constantly hovering over him like a mother hen.

Anders bathed quickly and dressed in the borrowed clothes from Arden before he could lose his nerve about going to the Emporium. He wasn’t sure what frightened him more; the prospect of returning to Kirkwall as he was or being stuck in this other world. “I’m ready when you are.”

Arden glanced round and pushed himself away from the window with a nod. “You should eat. We’ll grab something in the market on our way down.” He reached for his staff, tossing Anders’ staff to him.

He led the way down, pausing only briefly by the door to Leandra’s room to listen to the sleeping breaths of the other two men before making his way down to the foyer. He briefly penned a couple of notes - one for Bodahn, the other for Fenris and Anders, scribed in his neat cursive, signed with a simple “A” - then nodded to Anders. “Ready?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be.” Anders said before he strapped his staff to his back and followed Arden to the place where he hoped that he could find a way home.

They paused in the Lowtown market where Arden bought a couple of buns stuffed with fresh roasted meats from a stall and a small flagon of Antivan white. Passing a bun to Anders, he took a mouthful of the tart white wine before holding the flagon out to Anders as they walked. It was perhaps rather early to be drinking, but after the previous night Arden felt in need of a drink. He gestured down a flight of steps. “It should be down here,” he observed. “If it hasn’t... moved.”

“Moved? What do you mean moved?” Anders said as he took the flagon. Justice was gone, he could do what he damned well pleased and if he wanted to drink before the ninth bell, he’d do it.

“Since last time I was down here, I’ve heard reports that sometimes the Black Emporium simply... disappears. You can’t find it. Then you go back to the same street the next day and it’s there again. Xenon says nothing of course; you ask and he answers in riddles, if he deigns to answer at all. Whether it’s always been like that and I never noticed before, or if it’s a side effect of all the crossing between your Kirkwall and mine, I have no idea.” Arden shrugged as he glanced at his bun then shoved it into one of his pouches. 

“Sounds more like something Xenon would do to keep himself safe.” Anders finished off his bun then glared at Arden. “Eat that, or I will make a scene.”

Arden glanced at him, and then laughed. “Over a _bun_? I’m almost tempted to tell you to go ahead.” He chuckled.

“Don’t ask for something you really don’t want Arden.” Anders muttered as he stopped walking and waited for the other mage to actually eat the bun. “Not moving till I see you take a few bites.”

Arden paused and stared at Anders. “It’s just a bun, I’ll eat it later. What’s the big deal?”

“You’re like me and well… me. You’ll handily forget about it and then eat a huge dinner or not eat then either then you’ll be starved and grouchy. Or you’ll slip that bun to some hungry looking child and not eat. Either way, I don't’ care for it. You’re already too scrawny.” Anders quirked an eyebrow at the other mage and held his ground.

“Careful, Anders, people might start to get the idea you care about me,” joked Arden, nonetheless pulling the bun out. He broke it in half and held out half to the other mage. “I’d say you’re in even more need of this than I am. You’re the one still healing."

“I’ll be fine, don’t try to deflect with humor. That’s my job.” Anders refused the half of bun but he did move again, his mind was racing ahead to what could happen in the Emporium, or worse; what probably wouldn’t happen.

Arden smiled, tucked the bun away again and followed.

**

Zevran leaned against the fireplace in the foyer, staring down at the ashes. The faint smile playing about his lips didn’t light his amber eyes as they contemplated the cold grate; it was present merely from habit.

After a while he straightened and glanced around the foyer. Fenris and Invictus were in the kitchen, a tense silence filling the air between them as they ate. Zevran had forgone that particular experience, waiting until they’d both gone downstairs before breaking his fast briefly with a few cold rations from his own pack before slipping down to the foyer. 

He tilted his head as he heard the sound of chairs being pushed back from the table, and quietly slipped outside to wait in the little seating area near the side entrance of the house, close by the garden. He was in no hurry to confront his hosts this morning after the previous evening’s unpleasantness; there was evidently more going on between Invictus and his elven paramour than had been apparent last time Zevran had shared their company, and these recent events involving this other Hawke and other Kirkwall seemed to have shaken things up between the warrior and the mage. Zevran had no doubt his own presence had not exactly helped matters. It was regretful that what had been a delightful interlude with Fenris seemed to have quickly soured, but whilst he knew the white-haired elf didn’t understand the Antivan Crow’s actions, he was still certain he had done what would turn out to be for the best.

Though no longer a slave, Fenris seemed to have little more agency in his own life than he did under Danarius; he seemed to have exchanged one master for another, and though no doubt Invictus was a more loving master than the Tevinter magister had ever been, Zevran did wonder if either the Ferelden-born mage or the Tevinter elf he had enthralled had ever fully been cognizant of the true nature of their relationship. Perhaps Zevran, in his own small way, had acted as a catalyst to realisation - at least on Fenris’ part. WIth his lover prepared to effectively bargain with an assassin using Fenris’ own body as a bargaining chip, perhaps the elf would have the impetus he needed to finally claim agency of his own life.

By reserving the final favour for Fenris to claim, Zevran had tried in his own small way to restore a little more agency to his fellow elf. Zevran knew Isabela only too well, and if she were to try to exact retribution from the one who had surrendered her to the Qunari Zevran was prepared to lay odds on the Rivaini pirate being the only one to walk away alive. If Fenris felt as strongly about Invictus as he appeared to, he would come to appreciate having another option open to him. Zevran smiled ruefully. He was possibly the one person who could step in as Invictus’ champion at Fenris’ behest who might have a chance of duelling Isabela and having both of them able to walk away afterwards.

Fenris had heard Zevran as the other elf came downstairs. He might not be a Crow but he knew his home well enough to notice extra footsteps. He went out to confront Zevran, tell him to find his way elsewhere before noon hit or he’d find his way forcibly.

“Resorting to sneaking around the house? Get out before I toss you out.” Fenris snarled.

Zevran glanced around from his stone bench. “But I am already out,” he replied in a tone of complete reasonableness.

“Don’t be smart, get your things and leave this house. You are no longer welcome assassin.” Fenris’ brands lit and he glared at Zevran with undisguised malice.

Zevran stared at Fenris evenly then rose to his feet and stood his ground. “I have upset you.” He let his hands hang by his side, well clear of the hilts of his knives, his golden eyes on Fenris’ face.

“You threatened to kill my lover under our roof, so yes you fucking upset me. I should never have let you get to me, it was a mistake I’ll not make again Crow. For all I know you plan to poison him before you go anyway.” the Tevinter elf’s eyes were bright with anger and if he hadn’t had such control of himself, tears might have fallen as he spoke through clenched teeth.

Zevran took a deliberate slow step closer. “How did I threaten him, Fenris?” he asked, voice soft and gentle. “When did I make such a threat?”

“Unless you want the last thing you see to be your heart before you die, you should stop moving.” Fenris snarled. “He told me of the promise you made to give him to Isabela once she’s recovered from the Qun. He’s resigned himself to death at her hand or yours. That’s a threat to him. You asked a boon, only to sign his death warrant not an hour after you sated yourself with me. How fucking dare you?” the elf screamed, his mask cracked as he stepped back from the Antivan.

Zevran sighed and lowered his head. “I feared you would not understand,” he said quietly. He glanced up at Fenris, sliding one foot slightly forward. “Fenris, the third favour is yours to decide. We both know that Invictus would not survive such an... encounter with our Rivaini pirate. He would need... a champion. One who has a chance of facing Isabela and both walking away alive.” He shifted his weight onto the forward foot and waited for Fenris to make the connection, his eyes never leaving the angry emerald gaze of the other.

“You think me a fool then? To entrust you would not slit his throat in favor of your friend? To think you’d actually let him live? I am not stupid despite what people think of me Zevran. I trust you no further than you could throw me.” Fenris stepped back until he touched the wall. “Do not advance further upon me unless you wish to die here.”

Zevran halted. “What reason would I have to kill Invictus?” he asked, voice still soft, brow creasing slightly in incomprehension. 

“He gave your friend back to the Qunari. You are loyal to her and you have nothing to lose but a lot to gain if you slay the Champion. Why do you torture me by remaining? Why do you think you can talk around me long enough that I will suddenly forgive this trespass?” Fenris trembled as he watched Zevran for any sign he was going for his weapons.

Zevran dropped a hand to his belt buckle and loosened it with slender fingers that did not tremble. He dropped the belt to the floor, the blades clattering noisily upon the paving stones, and then took a slow step closer, halting at arm’s length from the other man as he lifted his empty hands. “I mean you no harm, Fenris,” he said gently. “Nor Invictus Hawke. I swear to you upon my life that I will not kill him. I will not harm a hair upon his head.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “What would you have me swear upon? Name it.”

“There is nothing you could swear on that will make me believe you would not harm me or Invictus.” he said softly, his gaze shifted to a point over Zevran’s shoulder so he would not let the Antivan see how close he was to breaking. “Why… why do you test your luck so? I should kill you to make sure you will not hurt him.”

“Luck? Luck has nothing to do with it,” said Zevran quietly. “Even if you were to kill me where I stand, I would still swear it with my last breath: I mean you no harm, carissimi. Either of you.”

Fenris slid his hand into the Antivan’s chest to show he was not merely talking for the sake of it. He let his fingers grasp the other elf’s heart loosely, but didn’t move beyond that. “You are a fool, and what is that you called me? I am not your lover, your pet either. Do not call me such things for my heart will not be yours for the taking after you’ve rid me of Invictus.”

Zevran’s eyes widened in shock and pain, his body rigid. His lips parted but only an agonised gasp escaped. His mouth worked silently for a minute. “Then take my heart, for it is already yours,” he managed to force out in a gasp.

The Tevinter elf yanked his hand back none too gently. “I do not want your heart fool.” 

Zevran dropped to his knees with a low cry, clutching at his chest as he bent over at Fenris’ feet, panting for breath. “It is yours nonetheless,” he wheezed. 

“Foolish elf, you are not as smart as tales make you out to be. Leave my sight.” Fenris said with disgust before he skirted around Zevran.

“Wait... please,” whispered Zevran, still doubled over upon the ground. “You don’t understand....”

Fenris stopped walking and turned around. “Do enlighten me then serah.” 

Zevran lifted his head slowly. “Invictus’ life was never in any danger from me at any time. I owe him my life; do you think that means so little to me?”

“I don’t know what anything means to you. You call me endearments yet don’t explain. You’ve met me three times, yet you claim I have your heart already? That makes no sense. Also, you probably owe Isabela a greater debt which negates any you feel you owe to him. What is you want from me, be plain assassin, I’ve no patience for word games.’ Fenris remained away from Zevran, his demeanor cold and unyielding.

“Isabela never saved my life,” said Zevran quietly. “How can I owe any man a greater debt than my own life?” He lifted his head and switched to Tevene as he began to speak, low and hurried. “I was born the child of a prostitute and sold to the Crows as a child. I spent my life in slavery much as you did. I was taken and used much as I imagine your master did you, except my masters were many. When I finally escaped the Crows, I swore I would be no man’s whore ever again and no man would ever hold my life in their hand like that. My life and my honour are my own. I would never exchange one form of slavery for another, and I have not given myself to another man since the Warden left me. Did you think what I gave you was such a trifle then? Easy come, easy go, good little whore Zevran spreading his legs for the Champion’s consort?” He turned and spat.

“I do not know your history, nor did I ask for it. I never called you a whore so do not put words in my mouth. I thought...I thought you…” Fenris broke off and glared at the ground. He would not give the other elf his innermost thoughts, and he hated himself for giving the ground he had so easily. 

“You thought what? That it meant nothing to me? A casual flirtation?” asked Zevran, a note of despair creeping into his voice. He slumped. “Or maybe it is the other way around. This was nothing for you. Just one more conquest. One more notch on the headboard.” He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair as he laughed hollowly. “I have been such a fool....” He pushed himself to his feet. Grabbing his satchel from beneath the stone bench, he slung it over his shoulder and across his body. 

“I do not gather such conquests, I am not one to dally easily with other men. What we did ...what we experienced was special. I waited for you, I wanted more but then you oh so casually mentioned you’d arranged for Vic to go off to his death at your side? I...I am not so callous as you’d paint me Zevran. Ask him if you do not believe me.” Fenris said in anguish. 

“I am the fool here, to have given myself to you so easily. Will you laugh about how easily the Champion’s elven bitch gave himself to you?” Fenris broke, his voice cracked and the tears did fall then before he tried to compose himself.

 

“Fear not; I shall depart and trouble you no further,” Zevran said as he turned away. Taking three long strides towards the garden wall, he sprang up, pushing off with one foot from a statue of some unknown Amell woman to propel himself swiftly to the top of the garden wall where he paused to look back down at the white-haired elf. “There is nothing here to laugh over. Mourn, perhaps.” He shook his head. “Tell Hawke that when he has need of me, he may find me at the Hanged Man.” He turned and dropped swiftly down out of sight before he could betray himself further with the tears that stung his eyes.

He would not weep, he told himself. But the air was cold upon his wet cheeks as he evaded a group of guards and made his way to Lowtown by the back streets. He told himself it was the cold morning breeze.

By the time Hawke came to find him three hours later, the elf was deep in his cups. Invictus found him slumped upon the end of his bed in the small room he’d rented, a nearly-empty bottle of Antivan brandy clutched in his hands. He was very, very drunk.

**

Anders looked around the Black Emporium with a bit of curiosity and fear at the odd things gathered there. He found Arden, his gaze drawn to the dropcloth the mage kept reaching for, but stopping at the last second.

Arden stood in front of the obscured mirror, a world of indecision in his eyes. He darted a brief glance at Anders and then drew a deep breath before grasping the cloth firmly and wrenching it far enough aside to show the glass was undamaged and dark.

The blond Champion let exhale the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding until that moment, then gave a shaky laugh. “I’m not sure what I was expecting,” he admitted. “A broken mirror perhaps. Or a dead Hawke.” He reached out as if to touch it with his bandaged left hand, then snatched it back before his fingertips could brush the smooth surface. Instead, he reached out with both hands to run his fingers lightly over the gilt frame.

“I have no idea how to make this thing work,” he admitted as he shook his head.

“Would Xenon know? Do you still have that rune with you? Perhaps that will make it work? Or Maybe Invictus has to activate it there?” Anders said slowly, his gaze taking in every inch of the Eluvian. “Or would Merrill be willing to help? If you helped her with something?”

Arden groaned. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. He bowed his head for a moment, bracing his arms on either side of the mirror before lifting his gaze to the dark glass. It reflected nothing; not even his own face. “I wonder...” he breathed. He closed his eyes and reached inside for the Fade, opening himself up and letting the magic flow, directionless, from himself into the mirror as he concentrated upon imaging Invictus’ face in his mind, conjuring up a mental image of the other Hawke as he last saw him in his mind, picturing those fierce eyes staring back at him from the depths of the mirror. “Invictus,” he breathed. 

He opened his eyes.

“What the Void did you do?” Anders said as he backpedaled from the mirror and the image of Invictus Hawke, huddled over a blond...wait what was Zevran doing in his Kirkwall? “Can I go through? Or does it want blood from me this time?”

“No blood is necessary mortal. But the desire to go back is needed. It’s what pulled you after the Champion the first time. If you do not wish to go, the mirror will not let you pass.” Xenon wheezed and fell silent once more.

“Nice to know he’s still creepy in any world.” Anders said before he turned to face the mirror and Arden.

“I have no idea what I just did,” said Arden quietly. “I guess it worked.” He returned his glance to the image in the mirror. “Invictus!” he cried. 

The other Hawke didn’t look up, seemingly intent on a semi-conscious Zevran. “He can’t hear me,” Arden realised. “The mirror must only be showing one way....”

He pulled back slightly, not quite relinquishing his grip upon the mirror, that tenuous touch of the Fade still flowing from him into the glass. “Are you ready for this? Truly resolved to go back, with or without Justice?”

Anders shivered. “Justice is gone. There’s nothing of him left in me, and I doubt there’s any way to get him back. Maybe...” He ran a hand through his dark gold hair and sighed. “Maybe that’s for the best.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Maybe give me a while and I might even come to believe that myself.” He stared at the mirror. “What’s going on over there?”

“I think... Zevran appears to be poisoned. Or maybe just very, very drunk. Hard to tell from here. Invictus isn’t happy about it, either way.” He raised an eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

“It would be nice to know what I’m jumping into before I go,” shrugged Anders. “You know, just for a change.”

“The decision must be made soon, Champion,” said Xenon softly, its voice sibilant in the shadows. “The longer you gift it with your power, the stronger it grows, until it will draw you in along with the interloper, the false one.”

“Love you too, Xenon,” muttered Anders under his breath. “I guess this is it - you don’t want to get dragged back with me again, I imagine.”

“Anders...” said Arden quietly, but Anders raised a hand.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly. “I made a mess of things. It’s not your fault. I just hope no-one died over there because of my stupidity.” 

The former warden sighed and gave a brief, hard hug to Arden then touched his hand to the glass and pushed.

Arden’s breath escaped his body with a hiss as he felt a sudden tug and then a pull upon his magic, the mirror abruptly lighting up in brilliant scintillating electric blue-white fire, and the room in the mirror was lit up with an eery glow, causing both Invictus and Zevran to look up in startlement. A breeze stirred their hair and Arden felt himself being drawn towards the mirror as the power grew.

Anders took a deep breath and pushed through the mirror until he felt himself tumbling through nothingness for what felt like a long time, but was more like seconds before he thumped down on the wooden floor with a hiss. “Maker dammit, landing always hurts more than the fall.” 

He stood up and glanced back at the portal and Arden. He waved to the blond mage before he turned to face Invictus and Zevran. “Dare I ask what brings my favorite assassin to the low end of our fair city?”

Behind him, Arden wrestled with the portal as he tried to draw back, his eyes drawn to Invictus. He gave a strained grin. “Must stop meeting like this,” he muttered.

“Too true. Let go of that thing before you wind up back here. Take care of yourself Arden.” Vic turned to Anders and gave an incline of his head. “Welcome back, there are many that will be glad to see you.”

Arden grimaced. “You all might want to step back,” he called through as he gathered his strength. The portal was drawing heavily on his magic now and he had the uncomfortable feeling that simply letting go might simply catapult him through straight after Anders. Closing his eyes, he braced himself and then threw everything he had against the mirror.

There was a brilliant explosion of light and the portal abruptly imploded, the shockwave knocking them all off their feet, followed by a moment of complete silence. It was broken after a few stunned minutes by Zevran muttering an oath in Antivan before he reached for the brandy. 

“Ah you’ve had enough of that I think.” Anders said as he motioned to Invictus to keep the bottle from Zevran. “Why is he here and utterly drunk as a skunk?”

“Because,” said Zevran slowly, enunciating carefully, “He has an impossible elf and disaster follows him wherever he goes. And I need a drink to deal with him. And you.” He blinked at the mage. “Mages who appear out of nowhere. I need a drink to deal with that too.” He glared at Invictus, focussing with difficulty on the bottle in his hand held just out of reach. “You have my brandy. You will give it back to me.” He held out his hand as he swayed.

“No, because you are likely close to being poisoned by drink. Can you bring him to your place? I have no idea what a disaster the clinic is and I plan to take advantage of this change of heart. Assuming Fenris won’t rip mine out the second he sees me?” Anders glanced at both of them and wondered what in the blue hell had happened in his absence.

“Your heart is quite safe,” slurred Zevran with a lopsided smile as he awkwardly patted Anders’ arm. “Mine, however, is not.” He smiled beatifically then slowly tumbled forward, passed out drunk.

**

Arden slumped on the floor before the mirror, aware of Xenon’s watchful stare though thankfully the antiquarian storekeeper remained silent. He glanced up at the dark mirror; it appeared much as it had before.

After a few minutes, he pulled the staff off his back and used it to push himself back up to his feet, completely drained and exhausted. He fumbled with the cloth and managed to drag it back over the mirror before turning away.

“My thanks, Xenon,” he called as he made his way towards the door.

“A word of advice, Champion,” murmured the creature. “The false apostate brought something with him but he did not return with it. Be wary. The balance has shifted.”

Arden waited to see if there was more. When it was obvious the creature had said its piece, he nodded. “I’ll bear it in mind,” he agreed.

He paused outside the door to down a vial of lyrium; it was a long walk back to the house, and he didn’t fancy running into any would-be muggers - or worse, Coterie or carta looking to settle scores along the way. As it was, a trio of mercenaries ended up regretting attempting to waylay the exhausted-looking blond who had appeared to be an easy mark. Arden walked away sporting a bruised cheek and knuckles he didn’t bother to heal; they could wait.

He slipped quietly back into the house and headed toward the stairs, hoping to avoid his lovers before he’d had a chance to bath and get changed.

Unfortunately for Arden, Fenris was up and furious. He came out right when the apostate had hit the middle steps. “You have some explaining to do Arden Hawke.” 

Arden paused and slumped, leaning heavily against the balustrade, staring at the step in front of him. “Can it wait until I’ve had a bath?” he asked quietly, shifting his grip on his staff as he leaned upon it.

“Fine, don’t linger in there either. I will tell Anders you are back so he can stop roaming like a caged animal. You are in so much trouble Hawke, you don’t know the half of it.” Fenris hissed as he went past his lover. “We’ll be downstairs, do not keep us waiting.”

Arden stared at the step, not lifting his gaze as the elf passed him. He sighed soundlessly then turned and began to head back down the stairs again. “Very well,” he said tonelessly. “Let’s get this over with.” He headed down to the study, setting his staff in a corner before dropping into a chair near the unlit fire.

“I will be there with Anders in a moment.” Fenris jogged back to the room and opened the door. “He’s home and waiting in the study. Calm yourself before you speak.” 

Anders launched himself from the chair, crossing the room in a few long strides. “Where was he? Is he unharmed? I have to see-” He tried to brush past Fenris, his eyes frantic with worry.

“He seemed tired and resigned to us yelling at him. Don’t fret, he is unharmed and I would prefer he remain that way. Calm yourself Anders, we do not need to frighten him.” Fenris said softly before he let Anders exit the room.

Arden glanced up as Anders burst into the room. The apostate paused, staring at him. “Where in the name of Andraste’s flaming arse were you?” he growled as he crossed the room to tower over the Champion. “Have you any idea how worried we were when we woke up and found you gone? Have you any idea what -”

Arden cut him off with a raised hand. “He’s gone.”

Anders stared at him. “Gone?”

“You are once more the only Anders in Kirkwall.”

Anders frowned and glanced at Fenris.

“How did that happen? Why didn’t you take us with you?” Fenris asked.

Arden shifted in the chair. “It seemed for the best,” he said quietly. “You were both exhausted and needed the sleep. He was restless, unable to settle; I thought maybe the sooner he were back where he belonged, the sooner he could begin to come to terms with what it will mean to live now as an ordinary man - a mage - no longer an abomination.” He glanced up at his two lovers. “I couldn’t fix that part. But I figured the least I could do was send him home. And I wanted....” he dropped his eyes. “I knew I would want to be alone for a little while once he was gone.” He passed a weary hand over his face. “Forgive me,” he added quietly.

“Eventually, go have your bath. We will figure out something to eat with Bohdan off for the day.” He stared at their Anders and shook his head to stall any protest. “I apologize for ambushing you upon your return. Come, we can make dinner while Arden relaxes.”

Arden waited until he was alone, then slowly got to his feet and grabbed his staff before heading upstairs. He threw the staff down on his bed and started to strip off his robes then paused as he glanced down at the pillow. A single feather lay there; soft and grey. He plucked it up and stared at it in silence, brushing it across his lips; and then he picked up the staff again, and plucking a few hairs from his own head he braided them together before using the improvised cord to bind the feather firmly to the shaft of the staff just above the hand grip.

Standing the staff carefully in the corner, he finished stripping and made his way to the bathing chamber. Filling the bath swiftly, he heated the water with a wave of his hand then sank down into the steaming water with a groan. He lay back and thought over Xenon’s warning.

When he returned downstairs, he was clad in his house robe over black pants and a soft grey shirt, barefoot, his damp hair tumbling loosely down his back. He wandered into the kitchen and paused just inside the doorway, folding his arms as he leaned against the doorframe, watching his loves as they moved around the kitchen.

Fenris noticed him first and simply beckoned Arden to sit. He kissed his lover as he passed him and shooed Anders off so he could fix their plates. The elf wouldn’t admit it except under penalty of death, but he enjoyed the domestic side of their lives. It meant stability and home for him. 

He slid plates in front of them and left Anders to open the wine while he filled his own plate. “I hope you like it, it’s your favorite.” Fenris said before he dug in.

Taking heart from the kiss, Arden slipped into his seat, his face relaxing into a small smile. He reached out a hand and laid his fingers over Fenris’ lightly. “Thank you, love,” he said gently. The grateful look in his eyes spoke of more than mere pleasure over a meal. He glanced to Anders and as the mage sat, he caught his fingers in those of his free hand and squeezed Anders’ fingers gently before releasing them both and reaching for his wine glass.

“Welcome.” was all the elven warrior said, glad to have just one Anders in residence and his lovers back where they belonged. He had more to say later, without words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Arden and Invictus' adventures going between Kirkwall's. We've had great fun writing them and who knows, maybe we'll do one shots featuring our own wardens.
> 
> Thanks for coming along for the ride!

**Author's Note:**

> The Fenris and Anders that belong in Arden's Kirkwall are better off, more well adjusted and cared for than the ones in Vic's Kirkwall or in the game's canon. Keep that in mind as you read their ongoing adventures.


End file.
